


Thus I Spiral Into Freedom

by UnknownLeaf



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions/Depicts Other Killers, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 44
Words: 217,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownLeaf/pseuds/UnknownLeaf
Summary: In a monstrous and unforgiving world, David King and Quentin Smith strive to retain their humanity as an endless cycle of death and despair steadily devours their souls.





	1. An Unfamiliar Place

When the darkness receded, David was only mildly surprised to find himself in a different environment. It gave off a kind of woodsy scent with a slight musty undertone which was not entirely unpleasant. A decrepit building, which had assuredly seen better days, stood in his path. Additionally, an array of children’s toys were scattered across its front yard with rich mossy vines clinging to the rusted apparatuses as well as the surrounding fences. David crept closer to peer at the dirty sign positioned a little ways away from the main entrance. Scrubbing at the filth with his jacket sleeve, he was able to make out a name: Badham Preschool.

Despite growing intrigue, he decided against further exploration and set his sights on a lonely generator sitting in the street. He did not want his curiosity to impede his teammates or, worse, be the cause of their deaths. While he was a bit brash at times and enjoyed brawling more than most, David cared deeply for those he considered friends. As such, he fought tooth and nail to protect those closest to him by any means necessary.

Crouching down, David began mindlessly repairing the machine while scanning the area every so often for movement. So far, no screams or distressing noises could be heard, or any indication of life whatsoever. Perhaps it was Myers then; the silent killer had a nasty habit of sneaking up on them. With the grinding of gears and pistons ringing in his ears, David nearly missed the faint sound of voices. The voices grew steadily louder, enough so where David discovered it was not other survivors but children singing. He began feeling abnormally sleepy as the high-pitched voices intensified, his head drooping lazily to the side and his eyes straining to stay open. An ominous laugh eventually penetrated his ears when his eyelids closed for a moment too long.

Quickly snapping his orbs open, David found himself violently ripped away from the generator and then felt his world thrown upside down. Apparently the killer was lurking about after all. David thrashed viciously in the killer’s grasp whilst internally kicking himself for not having realised something being amiss sooner.

“Put me down ya bloody git!”

A series of gravelly chuckles were his only response. David gritted his teeth in annoyance but halted his struggles to notice a peculiar change in his surroundings: dense, mid-hanging fog littered the area making the air feel heavier and unnatural; the air itself smelled of something burning, though what that something could be was a mystery; ashen leaves fell all around seemingly from no particular source; and the scraping of the killer’s feet on the pavement sounded muffled yet still echoed lowly throughout the area. Needless to say, these new changes were downright creepy.

David was prematurely pulled from his musings when a rusted hook pierced into his left shoulder. His body tensed from the immense pain and a loud shout erupted from his throat. Even after experiencing countless trials, the initial agony of the hook never seemed to be any less excruciating. After sagging into the metal, David noticed that the killer simply vanished out of existence and the environment was what it once was when he first started the trial. The singing from earlier, too, started to fade which left only the sound of his soft, pained groans. Anger and humiliation were swift to course through his system from getting caught so easily. Why had he dropped his guard so carelessly?

Two consecutive pings in the distance gave David some comfort over his pitiful capture, though that comfort brought with it shameful thoughts regarding his current predicament. He did not desire to burden his teammates by needing to be rescued so early on. With a rush of determination, David grasped the hook with firm hands and successfully heaved himself free from the contraption. Hand clutched to his bleeding shoulder, he ventured back towards his unfinished generator. Thankfully the killer did not damage the machine so his progress remained intact. Hence, it only took a matter of seconds before the generator pinged and lit up, the blessed light illuminating the small space it occupied. Three down and only two more to go.

A harsh scream, one typically signalling that the killer had hooked a fellow mate, had David readily clenching his fists. Without thinking, he staggered in the general direction of the noise, his thirst to protect his mates spurring him on. Warm blood continued to ooze out from between his fingers as he applied pressure to his wound, the damnable thing deep and aggravating, though he dismissed it in favour of pushing forward. Rounding the street corner, David observed as Bill dangled motionlessly from a hook behind the preschool and, in absence of any eerie lullaby, he quickly rushed through a broken gap in the chain-linked fence and saved the elder.

The veteran grunted upon removal and then uttered a grateful, “Thanks son.”

“Think nothin’ of it,” David replied as he proceeded to tend to Bill’s injuries. “Y’come ‘cross anyone else yet?”

“Megan’s here. Haven’t seen the fourth yet, but I’d reckon that they’re probably new to this.”

It was a common occurrence in this world: whenever a new killer appeared, a new survivor usually showed up too. Sometimes new survivors found the survivor campground before being pulled into a trial, but other times they never discovered the fire before the fog whisked them away. The latter made David’s heart sink as new, unaware additions to their ranks at least deserved _some_ warning of the horrors they would inevitably encounter, but everyone experienced their first trial differently. He himself had received the unfortunate pleasure of an axe to the face in his first trial with The Huntress. Though, to be fair, he did provoke her quite a bit once he realised she was trying to kill him.

“Wha’ kinda weapon does the killer ‘ave?” David asked whilst gesturing to the set of parallel laceration marks on Bill’s torso.

“Knife hand,” the elder mumbled with disinterest, the older male hoisting himself off the ground when his wounds were completely mended. “Small blades, but they bite deep enough.” Another loud yell cut through the still air, a distinctly feminine one at that, and David attempted to help when a hand hastily gripped his bicep. “Hold up! Lemme patch you up before you go runnin’ into trouble again.”

David went to protest but one pointed look from Bill kept his trap wisely shut. While he normally argued with his fellow survivors, and sometimes violently if they were being especially infuriating, he found the strength necessary to restrain himself this time. Barely. Lips pursed in concentration, David took a second to calm himself before releasing a somewhat irritated sigh, then nodded quietly and allowed Bill to wrap up his shoulder.

“Thanks mate. Can ya be quick ‘bout it?” The deadpanned look he received in return was utterly priceless.

“Just ‘cause I’m old doesn’t mean I’m slow.”

David flashed a saucy grin at the elder before he responded with, “I neva said yer slow.”

Bill merely grumbled under his breath though David thought he was able to make out a curse. A small amount of effort was required in order to stifle his snickers as the elder finished mending his wound. Like a flip of a coin, he found his earlier annoyance almost nullified by just a wee sliver of humor. What David would not give to have it be that simple to defuse every situation, but then where would the fun and excitement be otherwise?

All ailments tended to, the duo went forth together to investigate the mysterious scream. Circling around the preschool, the sound of children singing once again invaded his ears which roused his temper in an instant. Expecting, and quite frankly hoping for, a shift in his reality, David was surprised to witness his surroundings unaltered. He turned to face the veteran only to witness the man’s head tilted at an odd angle and, if it were humanly possible, Bill appeared to be falling asleep while standing up. The elder then abruptly yelped as four slashes materialized on his back, the bloody castoff staining their respective clothes further, and Bill promptly broke away from him.

“Run!” the veteran urged as he made a beeline for the side door of the preschool. “I’ll buy you some time.”

David followed Bill to the side door but hesitated for a few seconds, his hands clenching tightly around the semi-decayed wooden frame. His stomach churned at the idea of letting the other distract the killer but he knew the old codger was tough. Odds were he would only get in the elder’s way, especially since he could not even see the sneaky bladed bastard. Time was of the essence so David hooved it through the front yard and down the street. Glancing about, he spotted Meg hanging at the far end of the street near some cinderblocks, her noodle arms struggling to repel the Entity’s claws.

“Ugh, it’s about time!” the runner huffily snapped when he approached, her voice clearly strained from exertion.

“Sorry lass,” David apologized whilst lifting Meg safely off and swiftly attending to her injuries. “Bill’s distractin’ ‘im, but I dunno ‘ow long he’ll last. Fucker’s like a ghost or somethin’.”

“He’s a _creep_ is what he is.” Another signature ping rang overhead, racking up their finished generator count to four, which had David and Meg sharing in an equal look of confusion. “I thought you said—”

“Unless he gave the killer the slip,” David spoke in reference to Bill, “but it’s too fast. Gotta be our fourth.”

“As in the newb?” she questioned, her skeptical tone accompanied by crossed arms and an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Y‘ave a betta idea?”

Meg pouted angrily for a moment, releasing a frustrated exhale and rolling her shoulders awkwardly in the process, and then irritably drawled, “Whatever. M’gonna go find another gen. The sooner we get outta here, the better. Without waiting for any response from him, she sprinted into the bordering foliage but not before she hollering, “I’ll leave you to save the gentleman in distress.”

He scoffed humorously at the parting comment, his brain having a difficult time picturing Bill as a ‘gentleman’ though the elder did possess a few qualities of one—like his self-sacrificing nature. Just like David himself, though far more reserved about it, Bill would _never_ leave a friend for dead.

Dallying no longer, he dashed back to Badham Preschool where the foreboding singing could scarcely be heard; thus, he concluded that the killer was close which likely meant that the elder was as well. An odd scratching noise directed his surveying gaze towards the main entrance, and it was there that David found Bill crawling out of the entryway on his belly. Ignoring the drowsiness beginning to set in, he blindly rushed over to help the veteran as the older male sluggishly tried to rise to his feet. The world shifted just in time for David to witness a knifed hand plunge through Bill’s chest, copious crimson fluid spewing forth like a geyser to coat the pavement and his Harrington jacket.

“Blimey,” he uttered in sheer fright as collapsed lifelessly to the side, a puddle of blood quickly expanding underneath his corpse. David stood frozen afterwards, his arms slightly shaking at his sides whilst his awareness waned and his breathing slowed. That goddamn sonofabitch!

“Oh,” the killer drew out lazily with a flick of his wrist, a few stray blood droplets flinging off of his blades. “I was just starting to have fun.”

David channelled his mounting rage into tight fists and speedily threw a wicked punch at the smug face boring into his. Then another, and another. He was a man on a mission, one compelled by an intense calling to pummel the mangled freak before him into a bloody pulp. All the monsters in this miserable place—in whatever realm it may be—had an uncanny ability to take immense damage and dish it back twice as hard. Which, in fact, was why no surprise manifested on his face when his blows did little to hamper the killer. Still, the thrill of socking someone, especially someone especially deserving, never ceased to feel so satisfying. And if it bought his teammates precious time to repair generators, then it was well worth it in the end.

David dodged a particularly broad swipe, the killer’s blades nearly skimming his short hair, and fled inside the preschool. Stray wood chips splintered beneath his shoes which he assumed came from a broken pallet. Its sharp noise caused him to smile inwardly for he knew Bill at least gave the git hell before dying, and David would be damned if he did not follow in that example.

Turning on heel, he gave the killer the cockiest grin he could muster up, his hands beckoning the arse forward. “C’mon ‘en pal! Think y’can get me?”

His opponent merely grinned at his display of bravado, as most killers tended to do, and wiggled his knifes in a flutter-like motion as he uttered, “Ready or not, here I come.”

An epic chase immediately ensued and David made sure to do everything in his power to keep the man’s attention on him. He taunted with abandon, trying to entice his predator to anger to the point of recklessness. He looped the killer through several classrooms, threw books and tiny chairs. Hell David even yanked a mounted fire extinguisher from its unit to blind the bastard and then smacked it across his scowling face when the spray sputtered dry.

The familiar, piercing noise of a horn blaring signalled that the last generator was finally done and now all that remained was opening an exit gate. Furthermore, David needed to keep this guy preoccupied a little while longer which, of course, he had no qualms about whatsoever. Meg would open a gate and hopefully find their fourth teammate, and then everyone would be on their merry way out of here.

“Is ‘at all ya got,” David boldly taunted after stunning the killer with an unused pallet, “ya worthless arse?”

Laughing like a maniac, he bolted down the hallway with ample vigor fueling his stride. He did not expect to be so entertained from messing with a killer without getting hurt in the process. Too engrossed in his triumphant thoughts, David failed to avoid a rather sizeable hole in the floor and fell through it to the floor below. His breath was promptly knocked out of him when the harsh landing struck his side, an accompanying static filling his ears and supplying him with a brief bout of nausea. It had been a short fall, but his poor landing smarted greater than David would ever admit.

Several obnoxious cackles resounded from above, likely from the upper floor, but he was too disoriented to snipe back. Bleary eyes fluttered about the new area to discover various pipes adorning the walls, flames bursting through their gaps every so often. The smoke and added heat from said flames made it increasingly difficult to breathe or see clearly in the cramped space. What kind of a preschool had this crap underneath it?

A loud thump from behind caught his attention all too late as David found himself thrown across the room in a heartbeat, his back slamming roughly into a section of steely pipes. He screeched in agony as the heated metal burned at the exposed flesh on his forearms and on the back of his neck, the sickening sizzle of his skin cooking further added to his nausea.

“You know,” he heard a calm voice break through his disorientated state, “it’s not very nice to throw things.”

David attempted to stand, shaky legs elevating him nearly upright only to be slashed across his front. Not provided with a second to recover, the killer grabbed him once more and tossed him into an old furnace, his head colliding with the grate and instantly ringing on impact.

“ _Are you paying attention?_ ” the killer angrily shouted. “Or is my lesson not sinking in properly?”

“Piss off,” David barely spat, his limbs struggling to crawl to the safety and coolness of the upper floor. He was, by no means, fleeing from his aggressor.

A firm kick to the stomach effectively halted his momentum which reduced him to a groaning and coughing mess on the dingy floor. David glared as best he could at the bloke towering above him whilst finally absorbing the killer’s appearance in full. The guy was of average height, lanky too by the looks of it, and clad in a red striped sweater. His skin, god it was sickly, was severely burned to the point where no one, probably not even his own family, could recognize him. The blades of his gloved hand gleamed wickedly in the light of the flames, their metallic tips still stained with drying blood though seemingly itching for more.

The killer kneeled down beside his prone form, whilst sporting a disgusting grin, to mockingly poke a single blade into David’s cheek. “Then again, you’re not a very smart boy.”

Enraged, David batted off the man’s ratty fedora as his final act of defiance before his life was claimed. How that unsightly thing managed to stay during the entirety of their chase was an insult. With an indignant growl, the killer grabbed his face and rammed his skull thrice into the furnace, each knock driving darkness into his field of vision. At some, when was unknown, the man freed him such that he collapsed in a heap on the floor, his world far too fuzzy to discern as his consciousness gradually faded. Was the guy aiming to stab him now?

“KRUEGER!”

What? David, though significantly weakened, forced his heavy eyelids to open and followed the killer’s gaze to spy an exhausted-looking teenaged boy with a look of fierce hatred swimming in his hazy blue eyes. Was this… this must be the new survivor. The boy looked like a scrawny kid and definitely not a menacing threat—at least not by his standards—but this ‘Krueger’ was completely absorbed in his presence.

“You,” Krueger whispered in an ominous rage, the killer now ignoring David to slowly stand.

In a flash, something too troublesome for his eyes to follow, both males were removed from his sight—presumably having ran upstairs. David tried shouting after the pair yet only a garbled groan escaped his bloodied lips. The dizziness he was afflicted with was too potent to fight against, his vision tunneling as everything went completely dark for a prolonged moment. It had been a while since he took a beating quite like this and continued to survive after the fact. What could he say: he had a gift for pissing people off, and an even greater desire to fight.

His eyelids fluttered uselessly for a time as his body became chilled in contrast to the heat around him. By nothing short of sheer willpower, David unsteadily clambered to his feet and dragged his battered body outside into the playground. His bones ached horribly and the gashes on his torso stung even worse, but numerous trials similar to this helped him develop a decent tolerance for pain. Also, the prospect of preventing brutal deaths befalling his allies were plenty motivation to keep him going—especially this seemingly incapable new teammates of theirs. Christ, his head; the intense pounding and vertigo threatened to put him down every step of the way.

David took a minute to lean on a wooden fence, panting roughly as he fought to stay conscious. His stomach swiftly dropped when he heard a loud shout close by and, with teeth gritted in determination, he pushed through the wooziness and darted into the street. Turning to the side, he was greeted with the unsettling sight of Krueger pinning the boy from earlier on the road beneath a single foot. The alarming fury in killer’s face was reflected equally in the boy’s own despite the teenager coughing up blood.

“You little shit!” the killer spat as the boy unsuccessfully clawed at the offending limb holding him in place. David panicked as Krueger crouched down, wrapped his ungloved hand around the teen’s neck and applied pressure. Next, the gloved hand was cruelly jabbed into the boy’s left shoulder which drew a choked scream from the immobilized figure. “ _What have you done?!_ ”

“Oi! Get yer fuckin’ ‘ands offa ‘im!” David screamed whilst sprinting forward to body slam into the killer, his weight knocking the man off balance temporarily. Acting fast, he grabbed the teen’s hand and legged it towards the outskirts of the map, his pace sluggish and staggering in random directions.

“You—”

“Save it!” David firmly shouted when the teen made to protest and weakly fight his hold. “I ain’t leavin’ ya behind.”

“He’s going to catch us,” the other male insisted, the urgency in his wide orbs not deterring David. “You can’t—”

“Shut it and run lad!”

He locked eyes briefly with the boy, his gaze stern and unwavering to show the teen that there was no point in arguing. A murderous howl pierced through the air which prompted both men to move faster. David was essentially running on fumes as his heart loudly pounded in his ears as his vision blurred in and out. He knew with absolute certainty that he was incapable of outrunning the killer for much longer yet the hand in his grasp squeezing his tighter urged him forward. In record time, the exit gate came into view with said gate thankfully already open, the inky blackness of the thick fog beyond a welcome sight.

Although, the killer was closing in rather quickly now. If the worst came to pass, then David was going to shove the boy forward and take the hit. He did not survive through his first trial, but this poor lad still could. A sharp clang followed by a frustrated grunt resounded from behind, the bizarre sound causing him to glance back watch a chipper Meg sprinting away from a stunned killer. Apparently the runner had slammed a pallet down on Krueger which showed in the cheeky grin splitting her face as she dashed to catch up to them.

“It looked like you two needed some help,” Meg stated smugly and then pointed a finger in David’s face, “and you _owe_ me.” David chuckled breathlessly knowing her threat was most likely said in jest, but he also knew that she would not let him forget it anytime soon either. “Bill?” she then questioned to which David shook his head sadly at her inquiry. She growled bitterly under her breath but gave no other comment as they reached the exit gate.

They crossed the threshold not a moment too soon as a scowling Krueger appeared right behind them, an invisible barrier blocking the killer from advancing further. Forcing his limbs to struggle a little longer, he and his teammates eventually emerged from the blinding fog into a vast, lush forest.

It was truly a lovely sight to see even if it was the only beauty of nature David would ever witness again. Trees stretched on for leagues, their bark sprinkled with fluorescent mushrooms, while the aero blue glow of the fungi and flora scattered about provided some visibility—nothing substantial to be considered real light though—of their varying sizes.

Staring into the familiar pitch-black sky, David was now dimly aware of the lack of ashen leaves and smoky fog. So those aspects, and that warped perception trick, were either unique to the new map or unique to Krueger. Here, though, the leaves were rich and vibrant in colour, and the night air crisp and pleasant as opposed to the fiery suffocating basement of Badham Preschool.

“That sucked,” Meg suddenly declared between breaths, her hands bracing themselves on her knees for support. “But at least we… David?”

David felt his strength falter as his nerves calmed and the stress-induced adrenaline wore off. Unable to fight off the intense exhaustion any longer, he collapsed against a knobby tree as his world faded from awareness. The last thing he registered was a set of weary cesious-coloured orbs, noticeably distressed and shimmering with unshed tears, eyeing him before the darkness finally claimed him.


	2. A New Unforgettable World

Quentin was desperately trying to wrap his mind around this peculiar predicament. He was initially battling with Freddy in the dreamworld with every intention of sending his barbequed ass straight to hell for good. However, a mysterious black fog materialized out of nowhere and engulfed the both of them. When it cleared, he had found himself standing behind what looked like Badham Preschool, but it could not possibly to be the same place.

He remembered the iconic location of his greatest nightmares unfortunately well and even the smallest details stood out to him. There ordinarily were flower beds underlying some of the classroom windows which Freddy frequently tended to on a daily basis. Also, a wooden apparatus stood in the playground where he, Dean, and Jesse once took turns pushing each other down the little slide there. This place, though, did _not_ have the telltale flowers boxes or the apparatus he enjoyed as a child.

The interior had been no exception to strange changes either. The classrooms, even the one where he used to read books for hours on end, appeared more enclosed and lacked specific objects he knew still remained collecting dust. Odd bits of multi-coloured wood were now present in the building too, the slabs of wood neatly leaning against a wall or a desk. After searching the entirety of the main floor, he had started to believe that this must be some cheap mental trick Freddy concocted, but it did not make sense as the man seemed so keen on gutting him just a moment ago.

He remembered ignoring the basement to continue his exploration outside where he discovered several seemingly abandoned houses and bulky machines scattered about in select areas. Some of these clunky machines he came across were powered, their pistons moving sporadically in and out like a speedy pulse, while others were not. Curiously fiddling with one of the dormant ones had been tricky, and his fingers received one too many burns in the process, but he managed to fix the stupid thing.

Aside from the bizarre scenery, he recalled cringing at the random shouts echoing all around, and he swore he heard Freddy’s awful laughter coming from inside the preschool again. It had got Quentin thinking that maybe there were others caught in the dreamworld with him. But how? He knew he was alone with Freddy, he just had to be, yet he could not continue to blatantly ignore his apprehension when the fifth or so pained scream reached his ears.

Swallowing a sizeable lump in his throat, he had steeled his resolve with a deep breath and entered the basement of the preschool—seeking out the latest scream. He shuddered at the memory of what he had found in that dreadful basement: his heart had sank pitifully into his stomach when he stumbled upon an exhilarated Freddy standing over someone else. This mysterious someone was obviously not him, or Nancy, but an innocent stranger undeserving of crossing paths with the dream demon.

He instantly knew what he had to do: defend and sacrifice if needed for the other unfortunate soul to have an opportunity to wake up. Being altruistic was second nature to him now, thanks to Nancy, but the larger male—the one nearly filleted—ended up saving him from Freddy’s clutches and forcing him back into that very same fog from earlier.

Even now, nothing about what happened made any sense, absolutely nothing, and that simple fact alone scared him immensely. However, he had little time to dwell on such fear as there were more pressing matters to attend to. Presently the man that had dragged him through the creepy mist and into lord knows where was currently bleeding out from multiple wounds. Meanwhile, the ginger-haired woman kept diminishing the situation and telling him not to worry. How could someone be so dismissive of another person dying?

“You need to calm down,” the female uttered for the tenth time, her voice riddled with irritation yet oddly soft. “He’ll be fine.”

Quentin continued to tune out the other in favour of tearing off unsoiled pieces of his vest and pressing them into the unconscious man’s chest wounds. His own injury was minor and not too deep or bleeding profusely; it could wait. Although, previous experience with a similar wound in that exact spot did cause a few traumatic flashbacks to resurface, but he was a master in memory repression. He had to be otherwise those flashbacks, those disgusting and miserable memories, would be used against him. Hence, said flashbacks were effortlessly shoved towards the darkest corner of his mind for the time being. It was not ideal to think of his past sufferings right now, and especially when they usually induced unwelcome panic attacks or pointless tears. Quentin would never forgive himself if his emotions interfered at such a delicate time.

He belatedly realized his attempts to stop the bleeding with a few flimsy shreds of fabric was likely futile but he did not wish to see another fall victim to Freddy. He was determined to do everything in his power to prevent it from occurring. With proper equipment, the lacerations on the man’s chest could probably be dealt with, but his head injury was a different story altogether. Perhaps there was a hospital nearby or some place they could call for help.

“ _Hey!_ Look at me!”

The redhead was suddenly kneeling beside him, grabbing at his wrists and forcing him to direct his attention at her. Quentin immediately thrashed and broke free of her grasp only to have her hands reposition themselves on his shoulders instead, the squeeze to his left shoulder drawing out a pained hiss from between clenched teeth. He went to shake her off once more and voice his aggravation until he caught sight of her penetrating gaze, the firm look giving him pause. The meager light in the vicinity delicately highlighted her baby blue eyes as they shone intensely with a familiar fierceness. It reminded him of Nancy, of how she looked at him when she strongly declared that she was the only one capable of ripping Freddy out of their dreams. Despite the obvious fatigue his crush suffered from, Quentin could not mistake the unwavering strength present in Nancy’s stare, and this girl—whoever she was—mirrored it perfectly.

“Listen to me,” she started again but this time more gently, her grip on him loosening just a touch. “He’s going to be alright. The Entity’ll heal him and he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

“Entity?”

“Yeah, the Entity. Right,” the ginger spoke whilst her face contorted in an odd fashion, “so okay it’s like this… thing that created everything here and it feeds on us when we’re sacrificed in t—”

“Wait, _what?!_ ”

“It’s okay!” she attempted to reassure him with a wave of her hands. “We always come back and we can sometimes escape trials too. Then we sorta hang out at this campground or wherever until we’re summoned again and then the fog eventual—”

“Please stop!” Quentin hastily begged as he raised a filthy palm between them to interrupt her weird explanation. This was crazy and way too overwhelming to follow. Plus, he truly could not be bothered to try when someone was literally at death’s door right next to him. “I really don’t understand anything you’re saying right now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um… well fuck. Okay, I can’t explain this,” she clarified, her arms vaguely and exaggeratedly flailing in the air, “very well but Dwight can, or Claudette.”

Quentin knew not of the two people the ginger spoke and, quite frankly, did not care. Instead, he narrowed his eyes in frustration as his patience ran thin and gestured frantically to the male at his side. “But he—”

“UGH!” The woman quickly jumped to her feet and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “I told you he’d be…” She trailed off to release an extended sigh and stamped her shoe against the ground a few times, the smacking sound deafening in the stillness of the night. The seconds stretched on and Quentin had just about enough of this nonsense. What the hell was going on? “Y’know what,” she impatiently voiced with a snap of her fingers, “you just stay here with David and I’ll go get the others. I’ll be right back!”

Quentin did not even have the option to protest as the woman had already fled the vicinity leaving him alone with the unconscious man, David supposedly. He begrudgingly admitted that the girl was lightning fast but that certainly was not about to win her any favours with him. Unless, of course, she retrieved a doctor or a cellphone to call an ambulance on her way back—assuming she even returned at all. Who was that woman anyway? He never even got her name.

Quentin merely shook his head indifferently and focused his attention back on David. To his eternal amazement, Quentin noticed that the slashes on the man’s torso were no longer leaking any blood whatsoever. He had to physically touch one of the cuts—still warm to the touch—to ensure that he was not dreaming. Then again, maybe he had fallen asleep and this was Freddy’s latest mental torture: giving him false hope before revealing that David was actually dead. Yet, the longer Quentin waited for anything suspicious to happen, the greater his belief in his awakened state. Just for added measure, he roughly stabbed his finger into the gouge in his shoulder and subsequently screwed his orbs shut and gritted his teeth when a violent pain spread through his system. Upon removal, he inspected the bloodied digit tiredly for a minute before lowering his hand sadly.

Even if he was not dreaming, he now knew with absolute certainty that Freddy was not dead. He had failed again; he had failed Nancy.

“Hey kid.”

Startled, Quentin fell pathetically on his ass as he stared wide-eyed at the group of individuals now circling him. Had he really been so engrossed in his own brooding not to notice these people, or notice that it had suddenly became incredibly bright thanks to the flaming stick one of them was holding? He was losing it.

“I think you scared him,” one of the men—wearing a cap and sunglasses—said.

“No shit Sherlock,” a female—sporting an urban-like chic—commented with obvious, though playful, attitude.

Quentin figured that these people were ‘the others’ the redhead mentioned earlier yet, so far, they had yet to do anything besides scare him silly.

“H-He needs a doctor!” he exclaimed urgently but received only a mixture of cringed and sympathetic expressions in response which escalated his confusion further. “Umm…”

Quentin tried to form a sentence or two yet failed miserably as his voice remained trapped in his throat. A dark-skinned woman—with rectangular navy glasses and a faded pink fitted shirt—pushed her way through the crowd and crouched down next to him and David. The guy with the torch—a white male in black glasses and a rumbled, dirt-stained shirt—held the flame close by likely to provide better lighting. Setting aside what appeared to be a medical kit, the dark-skinned woman began inspecting David’s injuries with semi-calloused hands. First she concentrated on the four slash marks on his chest and then moved on to examine the indentation in his skull. She then turned her careful sights on Quentin and proceeded to get a better look at his injured shoulder.

He became rather anxious with the woman abruptly entering his personal space and voiced a fearful, “Hey, w—”

“It’s okay,” she whispered compassionately as she held his gaze, her coffee-coloured orbs conveying nothing but pure empathy. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to help.”

“Help him first,” Quentin pleaded quietly, his head gesturing to the unconscious male beside him. David had been denied appropriate care long enough and this woman seemed to be his best hope for recovery. She took a moment to stare at Quentin thoughtfully, her penetrating gaze causing him to defensively lean away, before she nodded in understanding.

The male with the torch then stood up and addressed the curious group with, “W-We need more light. Let’s get them back to the campfire.”

“You alright to move?” The question coupled with a hand resting on his grey beanie-clad head in such an affectionate manner had Quentin flinching away, his body language reflecting his distrust of these people.

“Yeah, uh… no, I-I mean, what’s going on here? You—”

“I know this seems weird, and believe me we’ve all been there,” the torch guy spoke with assurance while he waved an arm at everyone in the area, “b-but I promise we’ll explain everything back at the campfire.”

“I…” Quentin hesitated briefly as he took a moment to debate his options.

On the one hand, he had absolutely no idea who any of these people were, and they had not even attempted to introduce themselves. They seemed to be fairly acquainted with one another but, like the redhead, they appeared entirely too calm with everything that was happening. Maybe the ginger-haired woman was being honest with him about David’s injuries and their calmness stemmed from experience. Was it wise to trust his assumptions though? Additionally, it did not seem like they were giving him much choice in the matter.

On the other hand, agreeing to follow this group could prove to be quite dangerous given that their intentions with him were currently unknown. Plus, there was a chance that his presence would allow Freddy to gain access to their dreams and, regardless of their questionable motives, he would _never_ blindly subject anyone to the deadly nightmare that was Freddy Krueger. Hell, the sick bastard probably already had access if the incident between Freddy and David was anything to go by.

Quentin sighed heavily and decided that the risk of acquiring some quality answers was worth the consequences. He went to clutch at his cross pendant and prayed in his heart that he would not come to regret his decision.

“Lead the way,” he uttered to no one in particular, his neutral voice disguising his frustration.

Two men made their way over to David, slipped a limp arm over either side of their respective necks, and carried the injured male off. Quentin trailed behind the three man whilst sandwiched between torch guy and a young Asian woman. The walk itself was fairly uneventful as he could not find the energy to speak up with his worries practically eating him alive. The Asian woman kept stealing sideways glances at him almost as if she was assessing him but remained silent. Her expression seemed critical but lacked a harsh or suspicious undertone so that was something good at least. Hopefully.

They continued moving until finally reaching a treeless patch of land with a single fire emanating at the centre and encircled by fallen logs. The area was a picture perfect representation of a secluded campground where one could escape to for recreational purposes or to simply bask in quiet tranquility.

Torch guy threw his now burned-out stick away and urged Quentin ahead. Hesitantly, he went and took a seat on one of the various logs surrounding the campfire and quietly observed as several people tended to David closer to the blaze. The whole display slightly assuaged his stress and warmed his heart. At least his saviour, as Quentin might dub him, had a few caring individuals looking after him. Even the redhead, despite her earlier attitude, was providing aid to the injured man. He straightened up in his seat when torch guy broke away from the others to take up residence beside him on the log.

“I’m Dwight Fairfield by the way,” he smiling male stated with an outstretched hand to which Quentin tentatively shook. “W-We probably should’ve introduced ourselves back there. Uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine. I’m Quentin Smith.”

Dwight shifted another medical kit into his lap to which he opened and glanced between its contents and Quentin’s shoulder. Before the man could do anything, he reached for the kit and closed the lid.

Surely puzzled by his actions, Dwight gave him a worried look and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I can patch myself up later.”

“But—”

“I wanna know what’s going on here,” Quentin suddenly demanded, his gaze boring into Dwight and causing the other male to gulp nervously. “You promised me an explanation, and I want it _now_.”

He made to sound stern but his lethargy probably foiled his attempt though Dwight apparently failed to notice his pseudo bravado. The other male merely sighed before straightening his posture and adjusting his glasses to sit correctly on his nose. The eerie seriousness in Dwight’s face did not bode well with Quentin, but his frown was expertly hidden beneath his naturally overtired expression. Looking akin to a living corpse did possess subtle advantages though he would not recommend foregoing sleep or overmedicating to achieve it. Unless a certain dream demon was involved of course.

“Th-This’ll take a while to explain,” Dwight said, “but I… I’m _so_ sorry that you’re here.”

“Huh?”

“Let-Let‘s just start with the basics. Feel free to stop me at any time. It’s… th-this won’t be easy to hear.”

He disliked the foreboding tone in Dwight’s voice and could only imagine what was about to be divulged to him.

\--------------------

After what felt like hours, Quentin found himself wandering almost catatonically through the endless woods. The introductions and whatnot went without a hitch but then came the terrible truths. The information was as grim as he initially feared, but his assumptions did nothing to prepare him for the myriad of emotions that bombarded him at the time.

Currently his thoughts were in complete disarray as they whirled through his brain like a bitter blizzard. He liked to believe that he comprehended what his new acquaintances had said, the ugly reality that he was now forced to endure, but he could not believe it. No, he did not _want_ to believe it.

He did not want to believe that his life was essentially forfeit and now belonged to some depraved, hungry god. Or that it was expected, routine even, to die consistently to various killers for no meaningful purpose other than to appease said god. Or, most importantly, that his struggles to be rid of Freddy once and for all had meant nothing since his worst nightmare was now destined to haunt him freely for eternity in this hellhole. It was so unreal; this had to be a lie!

One tiny upside to this world, though not confirmed, was that the killers were supposedly stuck here too. Hence, Freddy could no longer stalk and harm Nancy, and he dearly hoped this was the case. He prayed that his crush was capable of living her life without fear—even if his surviving in this hellscape was the price. No disgusting undead pervert, no stress over trying to stay awake and no murderous nightmares. She deserved that much, but it did not stop him from wishing to be by her side once more. How could fate be so cruel?

Quentin halted his stride as an unknown wetness seeped into the toe section of his sneakers. Glancing upward, a quaint pond shimmered elegantly in the subtle glow of the plentiful flora and fungi. What once would have been a pleasant sight only drew fresh tears from his bloodshot eyes.

Taking a few rapid breaths, he screamed his utter anguish into the darkened sky above. Throwing off his beanie haphazardly, he gripped his brunette curls tightly and paced back and forth in a short line. He tried to control his breathing but ended up hyperventilating as his shoes drew angry lines in the dirt.

In a huff Quentin stopped pacing, sunk to his knees, and proceeded to repeatedly slam his fists into the ground. His mind slowly began to shut down as he finally released his inner turmoil from the confines of his body. He needed this, he needed to let loose before he lost his sanity. Every impact bruised his pale flesh and sent painful shockwaves throughout his hands and arms, and yet he persisted. He continued to vent his frustrations until his body became increasingly heavy and little oxygen remained in his lungs.

Exhausted, his hunched form fell sideways weightlessly as his surrounding became nothing more than a simple background noise. He curled his long limbs into a tiny ball and sobbed quietly to himself, his tears robbing him of his ability to see clearly. A dreadful sinking feeling in his chest was constricting his innards without mercy and no amount of physical pain seemed to lessen or distract him from the sensation.

Quentin found himself grasping his necklace for a second time. His breathing began to dissipate as he offered up a silent prayer: for everyone trapped in this horrible place, for a brighter future beyond this world, and for Nancy.


	3. Gather Your Bearings Then Cast Them Away

Bits of awareness came crashing over David in sporadic waves. The signature crackling noises and scent of burning timber told him that he was somewhere near the campfire. Whatever solid object he was propped up on, what he assumed to be a log, put unwanted pressure on his upper back. His eyelids fluttered sluggishly as he attempted to dispel the grogginess weighing down his body, the feeling akin to drunkenness brought on by one too many pints of beer. What he would not give for a decent drink or two in this world. Moisture rapidly accumulated in his eyes from the blinding light that enveloped his vision, and he went to curse but a thickness in his esophagus prevented anything save a muffled moan from escaping.

“Back with us son?” a gruff voice lazily asked.

David slowly tilted his head towards the sound and spotted the veteran at his side but he abruptly turned away, his nostrils flaring in discomfort at the unsavoury stench wafting inside. Normally he was uncaring of Bill’s foul-smelling habit however the smoke from the man’s cigarette only served to bring more tears to his eyes.

“Put ‘at bloody thing out,” he mumbled hotly while offering the elder a squinted sideways glare.

The senior ignored him in favour of taking a long drag from the thin cylinder, the ashen end turning bright red in the process. As Bill carried on inhaling his precious toxins, David developed a growing urge to rip the cancer-inducing stick away from the old codger, maybe punch him in his wrinkly face for extra emphasis. He, for the life of him, could not understand the Entity’s logic for granting the man limitless cigarettes.

“Bill. Please put that out,” Claudette pleaded in a gentle manner, her ability to sense tension and subtly defuse it both amazed and annoyed David every time.

The veteran grumbled under his breath but eventually did as the lass asked. He found himself smiling stupidly at Bill’s pink-tinted cheeks when Claudette voiced her gratitude. Out of all the people in their small group, Claudette held the honour of being the most listened to. It was quite a challenge to stay frustrated, let alone be angry with in the slightest, at such a kind-hearted soul.

Glancing about, David briefly took into account the absence of Meg, Nea, Ace, and Feng around the fire. He figured that they must be in a trial since Ace always hovered around the others. The gambler was a natural social butterfly and loved expressing his humor which was fairly entertaining to listen to. Although, that wicked tongue of his had earned him a few hard jabs from time to time. Guy was nice enough but that flirtatious nature of his was annoying at times.

“How’re you feeling?” Laurie inquired from behind him, her voice making his heart race momentarily.

Like Claudette, Laurie too possessed a unique ability only hers involved being as silent as a mouse. Perhaps she inherited her stealthy nature from her older brother, Michael, or The Shape as they so cleverly called him. It certainly worked well for her during trials but she usually became far more aggressive when her brother was the killer.

“Sore,” he responded after collecting his bearings. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“What’s the last thing you can remember?”

It was Dwight that spoke though David did not bother searching for his general whereabouts. Instead he pondered the question for a minute, his thoughts still quite fuzzy and unclear. He recalled being in a trial and repairing a generator but nothing else significant came to mind, the remaining gaps in his memory acting like a complex jigsaw puzzle with select pieces missing.

“Not much,” he eventually slurred out, sleepiness clinging to his tongue. “Got my arse ‘anded to me I suppose.”

“That’s an understatement.”

He barely heard Jake’s remark over the repetitive clanking noises, the guy probably fiddling with one of his many toolboxes, but it reignited David’s temper all the same. He wobbly rose to his feet, clenched his fists in preparation and narrowed his eyes threateningly at his intended target.

“Y’wanna ‘ave a go?”

Even if he was injured, which he suspected was no longer the case given the lack of pain, he was not about to pass up on a fight—especially not with Jake Park. The saboteur was, by far, the most infuriating person here. His frigid attitude was difficult to stomach and the fact that the man immediately declared his dislike for David the moment he arrived in this hellhole did not help matters. Granted Jake never actually vocalized his dislike, but the actions and facial expressions directed at him spoke volumes.

Laurie and Dwight physically put themselves between him and Jake which effectively blocked any altercation from starting. He made to shove the duo out of the way but Laurie’s eyes struck a nerve in his brain. Blue eyes. No, a different shade blue, alert and absent of tears. Why did that small detail spark so much interest? Suddenly his mind flooded with realisation, the cogs in his brain realigning as the missing pieces of the puzzle fit together as one: the heated chase within the preschool, the burned bastard plunging his claws through Bill’s chest, and the young man with haunting cesious eyes he managed to rescue. His eyes frantically scanned the area for their newest member but the teen was nowhere to be found.

“Th-The lad? Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Jake replied curtly, his comment lacking any warmth but his troubled expression did not match his tone. “He went for a walk awhile ago.”

“Y’tell ‘im?” David inquired but knew the obvious answer by their solemn and dejected faces. In all honesty, he was greatly relieved having not been conscious during _that_ conversation. He remembered being incredibly upset and perhaps a little overly aggressive when he had been informed of his new lifestyle. This somber memory prompted him to ask a stupid question, one he could not prevent from leaving his mouth. “How’d he take it?”

“As well as you’d expect,” Laurie answered with a melancholic tone, her arms crossing over her chest was a telltale sign of her discomfort.

“He put on a brave face b-but…” Dwight trailed off as he shifted his gaze to the fire, his fingers twisting anxiously in the fabric of his already rumbled shirt.

“He just needs a little time to process,” Claudette finished adamantly, the concern in her voice not going unnoticed. “In the meantime, David, can I check your bandages? Your wounds might be healed by now.”

David took a second to hum in affirmation and resituated himself on the nearest log. Claudette soon joined him, with a medical kit in hand, and proceeded to remove the bindings from his torso. He only just noted the absence of his signature Harrington jacket and undershirt which were probably quite bloodied and torn, at least from what he remembered, but that had not stopped him from wearing such attire in the past. He was fairly sure he had a spare shirt lying around somewhere otherwise being shirtless was always a viable option. As if reading his thoughts, Bill deposited his spare Davy’s grey undershirt by his side and he nodded in thanks towards the elderly gent.

“Everything seems good,” Claudette commented absentmindedly whilst running her hands delicately over a pectoral, her fingers creating a slight tickling sensation which sent pinpricks along his scarred flesh. Once satisfied, she switched over to his skull, removing the bandages all the while being careful to avoid accidentally snagging his hair. He allowed her to awkwardly grasp at his head to better inspect him despite wanting to fidget. “It’s still a bit swollen and bruised,” she informed with a disappointed frown. “It’ll probably take a bit longer to disappear completely.”

Claudette then handed Laurie the used bandages to which the babysitter immediately disposed of in the fire. Their resident botanist next pulled out a small container of salve from her medical pack, the small plastic jar containing crushed herbs which she continuously gathered from around the region. She collected a generous amount of the hunter green-coloured paste onto her fingers and applied it to his discoloured, tender scalp. Some of the sticky goo clung to his dark taupe locks but he could simply wash it out later. A nice, cool dip actually sounded like heaven right about now and he intended to do just that once Claudette was finished with him. Eventually she released her fragile hold on him and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder with her unstained hand.

“Please try to be a little more careful next time David,” Claudette begged though they all knew it was pointless. He was known for his recklessness and to ask him to stop would be like asking David to stop being David. It was an intrinsic part of his character, a trait he rather loved if anyone bothered to ask him.

“I’ll do my best lass but I can’t promise anythin’. Savin’ you lot all the time’s dangerous work.” Claudette only rolled her eyes in response as she scrubbed at the residual muck on her fingers with a cloth rag. Despite the cold feeling and the funky smell, the goo worked well to soothe the discomfort on his scalp. “Speakin’ of savin’,” David turned to Bill with a proud smile, “thanks fer distractin’ the bastard, but m’sorry I couldn’t get to ya in time.”

“Don’t get your pants in a twist,” the elder remarked with a hint of a grin. “You did your best son and I knew what was gonna happen.”

“By-By the way,” Dwight chimed in, “Quentin gave us a bit of information about the new killer.”

“Quentin?”

“The boy you saved earlier,” Laurie offered helpfully in light of his confusion.

“Anyways,” the leader continued, “the killer’s name is Freddy Krueger. Apparently he-he can’t attack you useless he puts you to sleep, and when he does it’s really hard to wake yourself back up.”

“The ‘ell?” David expressed almost irritably. “Wha’ kinda power—neva mind. How ‘bout the bugger bein’ invisible ‘en?”

“Quentin said he can’t be seen until you’ve fallen asleep,” Dwight added, voice quieting near the end of his sentence.

“Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! How’s ‘at even work?” he shouted at no one in particular and nor was he expecting an intelligent answer in return.

“Feng already dubbed him The Nightmare,” Jake interjected before anyone else could reply to his previous question.

David debated the moniker and decided it was fairly appropriate though he might have preferred The Mangled Freak, or The Creepy Chuckler since the amount of laughs the killer spewed was incredibly obnoxious. His imaginary names reminded him of a few other things yet to be addressed.

“Wha’ ‘bout the weird burnt shite flyin’ ‘round? There was also this singin’—”

“The singing’s the warning you get when the killer’s close by,” Laurie jumped in to explain. “Kinda like The Huntress’s humming.”

“I prefer the hummin’,” Bill commented faintly with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sounds nicer.”

“The ‘burnt shit’,” the leader said as his fingers imitated quotation marks, “is a mystery. Even Quentin d-didn’t know anything about it.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go along,” the babysitter asserted resolutely and several heads nodded in approval.

Krueger would undoubtedly target him the next time their paths crossed since David imagined the killer being the type to hold a grudge. If The Nightmare singled him out, it would allow him to experience the full extent of the man’s powers too—without getting distracted by his own thirst for excitement. Next time, however, he would not be caught off guard so easily and, until such a time arose, a relaxing soak was in order.

“Imma go for a dip,” David announced aloud and stood upright, tank top thrown over his shoulder haphazardly.

“D’you need more salve for later?” Claudette asked whilst rummaging about in her medical kit.

“Nah,” he voiced, his hand waving absently at the compassionate lass, “I’ll be fine. Ya best be savin’ it for the others when they get back.”

With that, David crept into the forest and made a beeline for the nearest body of water. While there were a few decent spots to go, he was not in the mood—or, more appropriately, he was too lazy—to transverse the woods too far or for too long. Fortunately Laurie, Jake, and Nea had been kind enough to carve arrows on the many trees to mark landmarks so people would not lose their way. He was sure getting himself lost and then consequentially teased would likely lead to some necessary violence to save face. And when was that ever a bad thing?

\--------------------

A soft, misty breeze rustled the tree leaves and cooled David’s heated skin as he finally arrived at his desired destination. The waterbodies were another beauty the vast forest, or the Entity he supposed, had to offer. It was ideal for bathing, washing clothes, and rinsing out some of the nastier wounds everyone occasionally received. Most astoundingly, the liquid, similar to the automatic healing process of their injuries, would always revert back to a clean state no matter how filthy it got. He had tried experimentally drinking the water once but it did little for him as the urge to drink was non-existent here. Besides, it was a bonus not having to take a piss anymore.

David moved forward a few paces only to nearly trip over something, his foot stumbling briefly before settling carefully back on the dirt. Peering down, he observed a body curled up at his feet in a wee ball of limbs.

“Oi, the hell’re you doin’ down ‘ere?” David grouched at the human ball and, upon receiving no reply, he crouched down and turned the body over onto its back. It was the boy from his previous trial, Quentin, and the teenager appeared to be asleep; however, the soft groans spilling from Quentin’s lips signalled some kind of distress. Was it a nightmare? “Wake up.”

He placed a hand on the boy’s chest and gently shook him to no avail. Then, out of nowhere, Quentin started thrashing violently, his body contorting in various positions as if he was experiencing a seizure. Pained shouts erupted from the teen’s mouth as his back arched sharply off the ground. Panicked, David held Quentin down with firm hands and tried to rouse him once more. When his words failed to succeed, he resorted to delivering a swift slap to the young male’s face, the impact echoing dully in the air. It seemed to do the trick since Quentin promptly gasped, his breathing ragged with wide eyes frantically combing over every square inch of the vicinity.

“Oi, c’mon! Easy ‘ere mate, yer okay.” he sternly assured and then enforced his words with hands coiled around both of Quentin’s biceps in an attempt to ground the teen. His rough grip drew a silent whimper from the boy but he ignored it as Quentin continued to weakly squirm. “ _Fuckin’ relax already!_ ”

“Don’t touch me!” Quentin screeched and administered a swift kick to David’s stomach. He grunted equally in pain and surprise from the blow, his grip loosening enough to allow the teenager to escape and scramble to his feet.

Rubbing his assaulted abdomen in circular motions to alleviate the pain blossoming there, David stood up and all but roared, “The ‘ell’s yer problem?” His hands habitually formed fists again as he took a menacing step forward towards the hyperventilating boy, a look of pure fear flashing across Quentin’s face momentarily before the boy slowly moved back a few feet.

“I—”

“Y’wha’? Speak up!”

Quentin hesitated for a hot second before speaking again, his gaze difficult for David to discern. “Are you okay?”

“Ya kicked me in the bloody gut. ‘Course m’not _okay!_ ”

“I’m sorry alright!” the teenager harshly snapped, his fright morphing into aggression. “You… you just wouldn’t let _go_. It—”

“That’s ‘cause y’were flailin’ ‘round like a dyin’ fish. Was ‘fraid you’d ‘urt yerself.”

“I’m fine, okay. Thank you!” Quentin exasperatedly yelled, his arms flying in the air with a dramatic flair, and then the boy pivoted around and made to leave.

Before that occurred, David snatched Quentin by his slim wrist and pointedly said, “I don’ much care fer yer snippy tone.”

“Let go of me!” Quentin spat and attempted to pry at the fingers encasing his wrist.

“Not ‘til ya apologize.”

When the boy stubbornly silent and focused solely on freeing himself, David simply increased the pressure of his grip until he heard the faintest sound of bones cracking. A pained whimper reached his ears before the teen tried kicking next, and those efforts were thwarted by David’s free hand.

“Fuck you!” Quentin angrily screamed with narrowed, hazy blue orbs glaring daggers at his aggressor.

The statement unleashed a raging fire through David’s veins and he immediately delivered a powerful left cross to the teen’s jaw. Quentin yelped and fell backwards on his side with a loud thump, the lad looking practically defeated already. Yanking the boy up by his arm, David went for a second swing when a bony knee connected with his groin first and drove him onto stiff knees.

“Dirty hit ‘at was,” David barely wheezed out, palms gingerly cupped protectively over his crotch. Several breathy growls slipped out as he stared at Quentin towering him, the lad eyeing him with a hateful frown plastered on his tired face whilst tears collected in his orbs.

“Just leave me _alone_ ,” Quentin seethed with firm finality, the teenager lingering for but a moment and then running full tilt into the shadows of the forest.

David remained crouched on the ground, one hand massaging his clothed groin as he took in a couple of deep breaths. Only when the pain began to fade did he register something wet on one of his hands. Raising his palm to view in the dim light, he noticed the slick substance clinging to his skin was red and sticky: blood. A lot of blood in fact, fresh and enough to coat his entire palm. It must have belonged to Quentin though surely not from the punch he gave the boy.

If David remembered correctly, Quentin was injured last trial… yes, his left shoulder, but the realization only made David more perplexed. He never touched the teen’s shoulder during their interaction so maybe Quentin had received another cut without his knowledge during the trial.

Scoffing indifferently, he simply wiped the liquid on the leg of his jeans and proceeded to strip down to his birthday suit. He came all this way to bath and he had no intention of leaving until he did. Even if the ungrateful, sniffling brat deserved a few more solid smacks upside the head. Although, now he would also have to do a bit of laundry too. He did not want to be interrogated about handprints overlaying the crotch area of his jeans, but he would worry about that later.

Goosebumps rose to the surface of his flesh as David submerged himself in the cool water, the frigid temperature nearly forcing him onto land again. Once the initial chill wore off, he permitted himself to float aimlessly as the refreshing liquid removed the grime and sweat from his filthy body. His troubles faded away with every minute of immersion and his mind tuned out the world around him as he relished in the much desired peace and quiet.


	4. The First Of Many Hardships

Quentin sped through the vast expanse of forest until his lungs began to seize in excruciating agony. Breathless, he placed a trembly hand on a sturdy tree trunk for support, the coarse bark biting uncomfortably into his palm. His other hand skimmed above his clothed abdomen to feel out four distinct rips in the flimsy fabric. A choked hiss escaped his lips when he brushed his fingertips along the actual cuts themselves, the wounds painfully fresh and stinging.

Given the subpar lighting, he could not access the full extent of the damage; however, the scratches felt shallow enough although still managed to draw a fair amount of blood. He could have sworn that those slices went deeper, or was the weird healing process Dwight spoke of mending his injuries already? Curious, Quentin shrugged out of his graphic T-shirt, the movement aggravating his sore jaw, and removed the bandage covering his shoulder. From what he could feel and see, the skin there was no longer broken and only appeared to have slight discolouration; hence, it stood to reason that the gashes on his stomach would eventually heal as well. He sighed in relief for a moment before frowning angrily. He had carelessly fallen asleep. He knew it was inevitable given the amount of stress he recently acquired, but he was still disgusted with his lack of willpower.

After his much needed crying session, he knew immediately that he had passed out when weary eyes looked upon Badham Preschool, the original version. Call it intuition, experience, or bad luck but he could never forget the building that housed some of his greatest and worst memories no matter how often he repressed it.

Not in the mood for playing games, Quentin recalled his venture into the preschool in search of a means of escape. The dreamworld was powerful but not perfect, and those imperfections manifested as fractures—as he liked to call them—in the environment. If found, he was able to pass through into another area of the dreamscape which further exhausted Freddy’s power. Pass through enough fractures and the dream demon was rendered too weak to hold him hostage inside of his own mind. Unfortunately, these fractures were tricky to find as they were little more than thin vertical lines that expanded and contracted ever so slightly along certain objects—usually fairly large ones—in the environment.

Prior to being sucked into this hellish world, he had stumbled upon the occasional fracture but very few were utilized given how relentless and watchful Freddy was with him. Quentin distinctly recollected a fracture on an old blackboard, the crude yellow chalk contorting similar to stretching apart and pushing together silly putty. The motion, however, was not as obvious if the lines showed up on one solid colour or texture like the steel walls of the giant warehouse the smug bastard loved so dearly. In actuality, he had only slipped through three fractures during his time spent suffering in the dreamworld.

At the time, he had wondered if Freddy was aware of the imperfections manifesting in his precious dreamworld. Quentin, despite fighting with the dream demon for so long, remained incapable of determining exactly what or how much Freddy knew. The bastard sadly knew of their existence now though and, looking back, he probably should have been more subtle about exploiting the imperfection directly in front of Freddy. Whatever; the fractures, though known, were still the only resource Quentin had at his disposal for escaping the dreamworld.

Continuing to recall his recent nightmare, Quentin had been surprised when Freddy had foregone mockery or sweet talk. Instead, the behaviour he received was pure rage and aggression as the abomination chased him into the basement of the preschool. Apparently Freddy was still enraged from their previous encounters—both in the dreamworld and after arriving in this place—and blamed Quentin for trapping him in this world, for keeping him from his favourite girl. What an asshole.

By nothing short of a miracle, a fracture, his precious lifeline, had materialized on the farthest wall adorned with children’s paintings. Quentin bitterly shook his head as he remembered blindly dashing towards the fracture and jumping through the invisible opening. Thick blood flew outward along his sides as he emerged through the opening, the crimson fluid splashing wetly against a tiled floor before evaporating out of existence. It was a cheap effect that came with using fractures, but it caused no physical harm so it was easily ignored.

Quentin had then found himself standing in front of a pool, and not just any pool. It was the same swimming pool from his high school in Springwood: starting blocks lined one side of the pool with a diving board standing in the background; lane lines divided up select sections of the pool as the azure water stood completely stark still; and the familiar scent of chlorine wafted in the air, the smell something he came to love and appreciate over the years.

He did miss swimming, the liberating feeling of it as his limbs pushed through the resistance of the water. Although, falling asleep while underwater that one time had made him hesitant to even be around water. He hated the fact that Freddy had not only robbed him of his friends but had also taken away the safety and freedom of his most cherished sport.

After settling his raging thoughts, Quentin had recollected his search of the poolroom for another fracture until Freddy suddenly appeared before him. The man slashed at him with lightning speed and managed to slice into his abdomen, some of the blood splatter flying into the pool and tainting the water there. He had staggered backward briefly before being grabbed by the shirt and getting partially dunked beneath the water. Chlorine stung at his unshielded eyes as he desperately thrashed for air, his struggles allowing more fluid to be inhaled into his lungs. His limbs flailed and his back arched as the lack of oxygen became more pronounced yet Freddy simply continued to hold him under with a vicious smile, his inhuman grip not wavering whatsoever. Just as he felt himself slipping away, a different pain had blossomed across his cheek and then Freddy’s elated face was unexpectedly replaced with David’s fiercely worried one.

Then that pointless fight with David had transpired and all because Quentin could not get a grasp on reality. He never should have kicked David, or kneed the guy in his jewels, but he had been incredibly panicked. What if Freddy had transformed himself into David? It would not be the first time that prick impersonated one of his dead friends, Nancy, or his father of all people. Even so, he should have known that David was an unlikely target for impersonation since they had only just met. Regardless, his petty anxiety attack mattered little now. He hurt David when the man was only trying to help him and said man unknowingly spared him from drowning to death. He probably would be unable to apologize or even thank the burly male without getting broken and bruised in the process.

Quentin sighed quietly in despair before another interesting thought crossed his mind. With this world the way it was, could he actually die in the dreamworld? If they—the survivors—were resurrected after trials, then surely the same rules would apply here too. It was a theory he would rather not put to the test but he doubted he could avoid Freddy forever. Sleep unfortunately was as necessary here as it was in his old world, or the urge to sleep was still presence anyways. He doubted he could die from sleep deprivation here either which was an awfully gloomy thought.

On a happier note, he believed the others were out of danger from experiencing nightmares with Freddy given that nothing out of the ordinary happened to David while the man was unconscious. Freddy enjoyed messing with people and there was no way the bastard would pass up an opportunity to brutally torment someone in his dreamworld. This meant that their only encounters with the dream demon would be during trials which brought Quentin a little peace of mind.

An abrupt bone chilling feeling surrounded his legs and shook him from his musings. Peering down, he observed as a thick mist slowly encased his limbs before rapidly moving upwards to cover the rest of him. What the hell? He snapped his eyelids shut whilst fear surged through his veins, the frigid chill threatening to steal away all the warmth in his body.

The sensation disappeared as quickly as it came on, and Quentin cracked an eye open to discover a change in scenery. The area appeared to resemble some sort of farmland if the hay bales and grain barrels were anything to go by. A massive cornfield, with numerous rows of decaying corn stocks, stood silently over yonder. Additionally, the air stank horribly of something rotten and he naïvely prayed that the smell was from the moldy corn and nothing else.

Noticing an absence of pain radiating from his abdomen, Quentin glanced at the area in question to find that his navy vest, T-shirt and wool beanie had been returned to him—only now said vest and T-shirt were intact and free of stains. Yet, upon lifting up his shirt, he was disappointed to see Freddy’s slash marks barely healed, the angry red lines bringing colour to his pasty skin in the worst way, but at least they were no longer hurting and oozing blood. He regrettably had been marked several times before and those scars would remain forever visible. On instinct, he went to touch one of the stark white lines mixed among the red but drew his hand back at the last second. This was not the time dwell on the past; it was time to act.

“Get it together,” Quentin whispered to himself, a hand unconsciously thumbing his cross pendant out of habit.

This was it: the first of many terrifying trials to come. Suppressing his mounting anxiety, Quentin swatted down and moved slowly, his eyes monitoring the area for movement though the slightest caw from the numerous crows had him flinching in alarm nearly every step of the way. This was going to be a lot more challenging then he had originally anticipated but a ping resounding in the distance gave him hope. He was not alone and he was not going to back down now. He could do this; he had to.

Coming across a generator tucked away behind a tall stack of circular hay bales, Quentin began repairing the machine just as the others had taught him. It was a game of patience and timing, making sure to connect the appropriate wires speedily lest an regressing explosion occurred. According to Jake, after closing ten circuits the generator would be powered on. Guessing the correct combination of potential connections was where the patience portion of the process came into play.

He managed to close two circuits without any trouble despite the increase in perspiration coating his fingers. So far, so good. Taking a brief pause, he wiped his greasy palms on his jeans in an attempt to dry them before reaching inside the machine again.

“Boo!”

Quentin knew the owner of that retched voice all too well and, with a millisecond to react, he raised his arm to shield himself from sharp blades as they cut effortlessly though the material of his vest. A smoky explosion startled him shortly afterwards where his eyes promptly widened as reality set back in.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Quentin furiously exclaimed whilst jumping away from the machine to wave his palms in the air.

When the initial ache faded, he touched a shaky and slightly singed hand to his forearm. His fingers found tears in the fabric and a sticky slickness only blood could possess. A nightmare? No, a fucking micro-nap. Of all the times, why did it have to happen when he was trying to concentrate on something important? That barbequed sonofabitch probably knew that too. Fucker! He was going to have a heck of a time staying focused now.

“Dammit,” he uselessly spat as he decided to punish an innocent tuft of grass by stomping on it.

A metallic scraping noise in the distance caught his attention, the sound unlike anything he had heard before. Was it Freddy again? Whirling around, his gaze landed on a tall imposing figure in a disfigured mask. Said figure was carrying some sort of dented machete in one hand and a rusty bear trap in the other. Nope, not Freddy. It was a different killer, The Trapper if he remembered correctly, and the menacing figure was closing in fast.

Swivelling swiftly on heel, he sprinted away while ignoring the searing pain of something sharp biting into his back. His legs began to burn as they carried him through the sea of corn, his hopes of escape pitted on shriveled up vegetables. The killer, not deterred by the corn, remained hot on his trail, those heavy footsteps and ragged breaths signalling just how close the monster was. He passed a pallet and threw it down, effectively avoiding a second machete swipe and stunning The Trapper simultaneously. These wooden slabs really were a godsend.

Another generator pinged overhead, the sound barely audible over his heart pounding in his eardrums as he resumed his fleeing. Suddenly there was a brief clanging noise before he yelled loudly as a fresh burst of pain spread through his ankle. He dropped to one knee with exaggerated breaths, his hands hovering shakily over the limb snagged in a bear trap. The powerful steel teeth were clamped tightly around his ankle, the visible skin bloody and mangled as bones jutted out at improper angles from the rips in his jeans. Fighting back his shock, he tried several times to pull its jaws apart, the metal bending somewhat before snapping back closed. Why was this damned thing so hard to open?

The sight of two meaty hands startled him as they breached into his line of sight and pried both teeth apart. Quentin then found himself lifted unceremoniously off the dirty ground and onto a firm surface. The Trapper’s shoulder dug painfully into his stomach as he thrashed violently against the arm securing him. The monster was clearly unperturbed with his struggles and effortlessly deposited him on a nearby hook, the rusted metal piercing through his shoulder and drawing an extended shout from his lips. Why was his left shoulder constantly getting abused?

The Trapper then stuck around for a bit longer, placed a trap close by, and then disappeared into the cornfield without a backwards glance. Watch where you step dumbass, his brain chastised, this killer was called ‘The Trapper’ for reason. Telling his stupid to fuck off, Quentin evaluated the two options before him: try and unhook himself or wait for someone to rescue him. He opted to attempt escape, his hands weakly clutching at the steel above but finding no purchase. Meanwhile, the Entity’s tendrils started spreading out all around his dangling form, their thick exteriors pulsating like a beating heart.

His second try was interrupted by Laurie as she materialized out of nowhere and hoisted him off of the contraption with surprising ease. He went to thank her but a dainty hand covered his mouth before any sounds escaped. She made a shushing motion with her finger, robin egg blue eyes scanning to and fro, and then signalled for him to follow her. He cautiously obliged and limped as silently as possible behind her through the rows of corn stocks. Patches of red liquid stained the soil as he went and he hoped the killer would not immediately see them. Cranking his neck back forward, Quentin took note of the bandages running across Laurie’s blouse and figured she too must have encountered The Trapper.

She led him behind an overly large tractor before starting to mend his injuries, her movements swift and her hands steady as she effectively applied bandages to his back. His ankle took longer to fix as his tibia bone and fibula bone required resetting, and boy was that agonizing. He bit into his fist to stifle his cries as a few tears squeezed through his clenched eyelids, the pain ricocheting around his foot and up along his leg.

“Th-Thank you,” Quentin said gratefully, his voice brittle as a result of the recent trauma.

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly, her eyes meeting his before landing on his torn vest sleeve.

Unable to stop her, Laurie tugged the sleeve back to reveal a familiar set of claw marks. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, her gaze sharp as if piercing straight through his soul.

“It’s just a scratch,” he blurted out, his words not sounding as even as intended.

She, however, remained oddly quiet and merely stared into his eyes for a prolonged moment. Quentin felt a nervous lump forming in his esophagus, the tension becoming more unbearable with every passing second. Eventually Laurie broke contact, wordlessly produced a roll of gauze, and bound his forearm tightly. She quickly examined her work afterwards, likely to ensure that nothing was amiss, and then wordlessly motioned for him to follow her once more.

Quentin released a breath he had not realized was there. He greatly appreciated the fact that Laurie did not ask about the cuts though she seemed like a smart girl, and the information he provided on Freddy probably gave her an inkling of where said cuts came from. He had yet to mention anything to the others regarding his nightmares outside of trials with Freddy. Everyone had enough bullshit to deal with as it was without tacking on the prospect of being slaughtered while sleeping. Only if they began experiencing realistic nightmares with the sick bastard would he reveal the truth. Perhaps not knowing was sparing them from torment or maybe Freddy could only reach him. But why? Either way, he would shoulder this burden dutifully as he had done in the past. He always looked out for his friends, and these people were the only friends he had now.

\--------------------

It took a fair bit of time but he and Laurie had managed to repair two other generators together. Through it all, the young woman was unexpectedly patient with his screw-ups. ‘Practice makes perfect’ as she so elegantly put it yet Quentin felt guilty all the same for slowing their progress down. Sadly a few gut-retching screams were heard during the repair processes and Laurie had to prevent him from leaving on two occasions. She claimed that Dwight and Nea, the urban-chic survivor he briefly met at the campground, were taking care of each other and that rushing in might hurt their progress more. He understood that fixing the machines was equally as important as saving, otherwise no one would survive, but her argument made valid sense.

“Their distraction is what’s giving us time to fix the gens,” Laurie had insisted, but he still despised the idea of Dwight and Nea playing decoy. Nevertheless, Quentin bit his tongue and applied himself to the repair work at hand.

Whilst repairing the fifth and final generator, he felt himself nodding off, eyes dropping as his movements became sluggish. He bit his lip in a desperate attempt to stay awake, the metallic taste of iron overwhelming his taste buds as the bite provided momentary alertness. Horns blared loudly overhead but Quentin had retreated into his mind, his thoughts turning worrisome as drowsiness clouded his perception. He violently recoiled away from Laurie’s feather light touch to his arm, his eyes surely wide and betraying his inner conflict. The look she gave him was mainly of concern though there was a glint hidden underneath it all, and then it hit him like a tidal wave.

She _knew_. Perhaps deduced it during their time together or well beforehand, he was unsure, though maybe not the entirety of it. Either way, he would likely have to be more cautious around her in the future. He did not wish for her to constantly fret over his wellbeing nor have her invade his privacy. Otherwise, he was not about to spill the beans about his dreams in case his assumptions were way off.

Plastering a warm smile on his face, albeit a forced one, Quentin nodded towards the exit gate nearby to shift the attention directed at him elsewhere. It took a moment but Laurie finally stopped staring at him and moved with him towards the tall, steel door. She went to yank the door’s switch down only for a pair of shrieks, one right after the other, to make them freeze up.

“I’ll go!” Quentin instantly offered, his body already making to leave.

“No,” Laurie protested, a palm pressing against his chest and preventing him from running away. “I’ll go. I’ve haven’t been hooked yet. I’ll have a better chance of saving them.”

“But—”

“It’s okay Quentin,” she said, a comforting smile finding its way to her face. “You just have this door open for us when we get back.”

Without his approval, Laurie took off, her figure vanishing into the cornfield and leaving Quentin to stare after her dejectedly. He wanted to help, and he should go help, but he had to put a little trust in his teammates. After all, they were the ones with experience but he worried for their safely all the same. He worried yet Quentin barely even knew them? He truly was selfless.

With a frustrated frown, he went to hold the metal lever down, his unbusied fingers wiggling impatiently at his side. Why was this taking so long? Three quarters of the way done, another shout filled the air, the sound kicking his anxiety into full throttle and prompting him to abandon his task in haste. Dashing to the opposite side of the rotten field, he silently gasped in horror and his heart wrenched painfully in the confines of his chest cavity at the sight before him. Dwight, Nea, _and_ Laurie were all on hooks at different edges of the field, their positions in view and relatively close to one another. In between the three hanging bodies was The Trapper, the killer turning his head every so often to watch his prey.

God! It was all up to him now; their survival rested in his hands. Quentin, however, was not about to be intimated for he would save them no matter the price. His failures in the real world were not going to repeat themselves here; he was going to protect them. First things first, he needed to lure the killer away without being spotted. Surveying the land, he noticed a lonely scarecrow close by and covered with birds. With a devious smirk, he gradually inched towards the straw man, his orbs mindful of the killer and whatever traps may be underfoot, and then savagely kicked the scarecrow. The crows cawed obnoxiously and flew around in circles as their resting place had been disturbed. It was the perfect distraction and The Trapper fell for it.

Using the corn as camouflage, Quentin silently moved away, eyes lingering on the killer as the monster stalked towards the straw man to investigate. Temporarily in the clear, he went to save a struggling Dwight before a gleam in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Casting his gaze downward, he saw another bear trap just waiting to be stepped in and flipped his middle finger at it.

“Not this time,” he muttered with a satisfied grin, his foot avoiding the offending trap before he pulled Dwight free.

“Th-Thanks Quen—”

“Shh, listen. The gate over there,” he explained whilst pointing in a vague direction across the cornfield, “is almost open. Hang left and you can sneak past him. I gotta grab Laurie and Nea fast.” Quentin wanted to heal the other male first but there was too little time to do so with the gate still closed and the girls struggling for their lives.

“No, lemme—”

“ _No_ ,” Quentin forcefully voiced, his patience for being treated like a busted fourth wheel not withstanding, “you’re dead on hook. I’m not.”

“But—”

“I can do this Dwight. Please just go,” he all but begged, his face hopefully giving off the appearance of the strength he felt. Quentin did not want to risk the other getting caught again as that spelled death.

Dwight, looking oh so unsure, was tense for a minute before offering him a less-than-reassuring-nod. “Be careful,” the injured male cautioned and then slunk through the outskirts of the field. One down, two to go.

Next was Nea, his hands miraculously lifting her free mere seconds before her body was to be impaled by the Entity. This was indeed a pleasant surprise and Quentin just prayed that his uncharacteristic stroke of luck would last.

“Thanks cutie.”

“Uh, it’s Quentin,” he corrected while shrugging off the wink directed his way. Given what he knew of his appearance, he was by no means a ‘cutie’ yet her remark still drew warmth to his cheeks. “The gate’s on the other side of the field. Dwight’s on his way over there right now,” he speedily informed the female. “Hug left and keep going straight.”

“I’ll do that and more,” Nea commented with a snap of her fingers and a mischievous glint dancing in her orbs. “When you see the sparks, grab Laurie and book it.”

“Huh? W-Wait,” he whispered after her disappearing form, “what sparks?”

His answer came in the form of a series of small explosions, their bright and colourful sparks lighting up a far off section of the field, and Quentin grinned happily at the display. A bit loud and flashy but he was not against Nea’s style since it obviously worked as planned. Unhooking Laurie, they instantly took off towards the exit as the other refused to have her wounds looked after in case the killer was still about.

As the gate came into view so too did The Trapper, Dwight and Nea as they appeared to be having some sort of standoff at the open gate. The bulky killer forced the two injured survivors to leave, their figures disappearing into the dense fog without a trace. The Trapper, obviously infuriated over losing his quarry, huffed in annoyance and moved to block the entrance. As time passed, it was clear that the killer had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“Think we can sneak past him?” Quentin asked in a hushed tone while searching around for another useful distraction.

“Not together,” Laurie mumbled, her eyes trained solely on the killer, “but maybe one at a time. We should head for the other gate.”

Her abrupt suggestion to leave rose eyebrows but then Quentin remembered that this killer had traps and it was entirely possible that The Trapper had placed some around the exit gate beforehand. Instead of vocalizing a sigh, he frowned as another thought occurred to him. “Won’t he hear the buzzers going off?” It took almost forever to power one of these stupid doors, and the killer was bound to hear them, or get restless, before they could get it open. Then again, he supposed that they could double back if that happened and then repeat the process if their escape was not guaranteed.

“Probably,” she solemnly agreed, “but the longer we wait around, the more time he’ll have to get us.”

Laurie, like earlier, did not wait for his approval and instead proceeded backwards but not before heavy footfalls drew incredibly close. So now The Trapper could see them? Great. Without giving him a second glance, the killer went straight after Laurie, his stride oddly faster than before. Was the game now to target the people whom were injured? It was logical given that injured people made for easier capture but it was still a dick move.

Being presumably panicked, Laurie accidentally failed to notice another bear trap in her path, her wail drawing The Trapper in like flies on crap. This was not happening. He was not about to allow Laurie to die, especially after everything she had done for him this trial.

“Hey you!” Quentin shouted at the killer but was again disregarded. “ _HEY!_ ”

He grabbed a rock and threw it at The Trapper’s skull, the small act finally warranting him some attention as the killer paused and then slowly pivoted around to face him. His large body was eerily rigid, jaw clicking once or twice, and his hulking figure had Quentin gulping nervously. Then, out of the blue, The Trapper started taking rapid strides towards him.

Quentin ran as fast as he could yet, to his dismay, the resulting chase was dreadfully short. With no pallets or walls in the field, the killer closed the distance between them in no time. Maybe it was simply the anger the killer had for him, or the insatiable urge to spill his blood, that propelled The Trapper forward with such ferocity—both were things he was sure Freddy could relate to.

It took only one solid swing from The Trapper’s blade to drop him roughly onto his belly, his aggressor then immediately hauling Quentin over his shoulder and stalking towards a shack in the middle of the rotten field. As they entered, he caught a faintest glimpse of Laurie—or rather her blouse—hovering just outside the window.

“ _GO! RUN!_ ” he desperately screamed at her as she disappeared from his view.

Down the stairs he and the killer went, the stench of blood growing thicker and stinging unforgivingly at his nostrils. His stomach practically did a backflip when the actual room presented itself to him. The amount of gore was truly revolting, and from what source exactly? There were no other bodies down here or anything and, the more he thought about it, the less he desired to discover the truth. Some things were simply best left unknown. And then there were these strange moaning or groaning noises, their tone sounding pained and tortured.

Oh dear god. Was this the dreaded basement they all warned him about?

The Trapper slapped him onto one of the four hooks and Quentin again shouted in agony at the feel of his shoulder wound reopening. This time around, the killer did not abandon him to his fate but instead watched as he suffered in misery.

When the claws descended on him, Quentin fought to avoid being stabbed like a pincushion, his sweaty palms holding back the strong tendrils for a few seconds until he remembered Laurie. She was undoubtedly waiting for an opportunity to save him; however, with the killer eying him like a hawk, it was an unlikely possibility. If he were let go though, then she would have no reason to linger and she would escape, survive when he himself could not.

With no better options in sight, he confidently allowed the veiny limbs of the Entity to claim him, the pulsating tendrils puncturing easily into his torso. Aside from being skewered, which was painful enough, then came a horrendous sensation which began spreading from his core. It was akin to being frozen from the inside out, the chill painfully numbing before morphing into a blazing heat. As the excruciating agony intensified, he felt himself ascend into the obsidian sky where he was met with nothing save for endless darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That bothersome corn is the real evil here.


	5. Actions And Words

Needless to say, David was not enthused with the recent chatter at the campground. Sometimes they shared stories and tales of their past lives; he was quite fond of regaling his brawling escapades with gusto, his tales drawing awe or head shakes but inspiring smiles and restoring positive morale all the same. Anything to dispel the horrible silence.

On rare occasions they played a few rounds of Truth or Dare, the truth portion of the game usually being forgotten due to the lack of entertaining answers. Other times they played games with a crumbled deck of cards Ace came across in the surrounding woods but, whenever the gambler participated in card games, they often ended up playfully berating the man for trying, and failing, to cheat. ‘Old habits die hard’ Ace had said once after getting caught with a card up his sleeve, and David sometimes wondered how the gambler survived in the real world. Probably by sheer luck alone or, hell, maybe even by flukes. Regardless, winning a measly game of cards was not important, even if Feng would argue otherwise. It was the people that played the game.

More often than not, however, they discussed their trials: the success, the frustration, the hilarity, the fear, the stupidity, the heroism. Everything. As of late though, majority of the conversations centered solely on their newest member, his impressive feats being the hot button topic.

David himself was not present to witness any of these feats as of yet but he had heard plenty of stories from the others. Quentin apparently had, most notably: jabbed a sewing needle into The Doctor’s crazed eye so Jake could escape; singlehandedly distracted The Nurse for an entire trial so everyone else could finish the generators in peace; silently followed The Trapper around and sabotaged every trap the killer set; and leapt in front of a thrown hatchet, curtesy of The Huntress, to protect an already injured Claudette from dying.

He was not averse to admit that the boy was resourceful and incredibly ballsy. David respected those qualities well enough. Though perhaps the teen was a little careless but he was not one to talk as he himself was the embodiment of reckless idiocy. All that aside, what irked David the most was that Quentin, for all his amazing displays of altruism, had yet to survive a second time. He died in every other trial thus far, whether by the Entity or by the killer. Worst of all, the boy appeared uncaring over his constant deaths.

As trials involving the young man continued with this trend, the others, especially Claudette, started becoming overly worried for his safety but the lad had comfortingly waved off their concerns. ‘I just wanna protect my friends, no matter what’ was what Quentin had told them in reassurance, the sappiness of the sentiment stirring up a few coos, smiles and hugs around the fire. David, however, had been strangely uncomfortable with the declaration which was odd given that he died a fair bit for his mates without a second thought. Yet, somehow, this was different.

David was physically strong and he fought against all kinds of people in his life, enjoyed every moment of it too. With the underground fight clubs, there was nothing more exhilarating than taking centre stage. The immense thrill of his blood pumping, sweating pouring off of him in buckets, as he pummeled his opponent into the floor. Also, as a former debt collector, violence was often necessary to drive the point across. What use was it to threaten someone without any incentive to back it up? Then there were the numerous pubs and well, as one might expect, it was never difficult to find a fight in those places. Hell, he started a great many of them just for the exhilaration alone.

It could be argued that he was addicted to fighting, the adrenaline rush it brought on, and David would not deny it.

Quentin though was nothing like he was: the lad was all lanky limbs and no visible muscle, and appeared to have never slept a day in his life. That or, given his haggard appearance, the teen was into some hardcore stuff. Either way, he was far from being a formidable fighter, and maybe that was what made this so disturbing to hear about. This boy, this exhausted ghost of a young man, was doing what he believed to be impossible. David hated to admit it, but he was a little envious of the guy. Even so, Quentin was still a brat in his eyes, only now a more selfless and slightly respectable one.

Currently said brat was sitting across the fire from him with Ace and Dwight by his side. Quentin was watching intently as Ace dominated Dwight in a game of War, the leader frowning as the gambler took more precious cards from his possession.

The sight instigated more thoughts from David which was somewhat irritating given their nature. He never did approach Quentin after their little scuffle in the woods and he refused to do so now unless the lad baited him. More specifically, he believed that Quentin was entirely in the wrong for lashing out at him and he felt no guilt in retaliating. Okay, maybe a bit of guilt. The teenager had not seemed completely lucid when he was awoken which, arguably, might explain why he received such rudeness for gratitude. Perhaps the guy was high, or coming down off of one, and found something in the area to take the edge off. His assumption was mostly solid though Claudette would surely warn them of any dangerous plants or funguses growing—assuming she herself stumbled upon any. Maybe the lad was merely spooked from a nightmare, this new idea providing a plausible explanation regarding the panicky behaviour Quentin directed at him.

Why did David even fucking care? He could care less whether the brat was snorting shrooms or throwing a fit.

A violent chill from below stopped his internal debate flat, and he could not ask for a more fitting time to be summoned. A brief glance around the campground showed that Feng, Ace, and Quentin were going to be joining him for the trial ahead.

Well then, this was going to be interesting.

\--------------------

This trial had The Shape as the killer and, admittedly, things were not going well. Only two generators were completed as Myers constantly interrupted their progress, the masked man apparently knowing exactly where his prey hid or fled to. It was infuriating! Ace had been hooked twice already and with the rest of them receiving one hook each, their escape did not seem likely.

Presently David was suspended on a meat hook for the second time as the killer chased a cocky Feng around the vicinity. Myers had not appreciated a tire being lobbed at his head and, as a result, he tunnelled David relentlessly until the brawler fell to his blade. David knew Ace was nearby somewhere trying to repair another generator, but at this point the effort was probably wasted. The Shape was ruthless and it was only a matter of time before the monster started getting stab happy.

Quentin, however, was nowhere to be seen though David had been making an effort to avoid the younger male. With his emotions the way they were right now, he honestly did not know what would happen should their paths cross. Nothing, hopefully, but David had his doubts.

As if the universe was conspiring against him, Quentin appeared behind him and removed him from the metal contraption, the action preventing the Entity from prematurely feasting on him. The boy then took a few hesitant steps back while eyeing him as if he were a wild, unpredictable beast of the wilderness.

David just stood underneath the blood-slicked hook with his hands slightly clenched and eyebrows pinched together. Was the kid afraid of him? It appeared so, given Quentin’s now cautious behaviour, yet why bother saving him then? Perhaps this was the lad’s way of apologizing without actually saying the words and he could respect that. David himself was a firm believer in the notion that actions spoke louder than words. This act, however, did not imply that the kid was completely out of the woods and that low blow delivered to his manhood was not something he was easily going to forgive.

“Want me to bind your shoulder?” Quentin tentatively asked, his tone strangely caring despite their fight.

“Is ‘at yer way of apologizin’?”

“Huh? N-No,” the teen uttered quietly, “I just wanna help. I mean, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’ need yer ‘elp,” David snipply responded, his temper lowly sizzling underneath his skin.

Quentin sighed, the noise aggravating David somewhat, and then practically snarled, “We don’t have time for this. There’s still gens to fi—”

“Ace’s got the gens covered.” For the most part anyways though perhaps not for much longer.

“At this rate, he won’t—”

“So why don’cha go find a gen ta fix?” David spoke whilst shoving Quentin backwards, the boy narrowly losing his balance from the force. “I’ll go ‘elp Feng.”

“You can’t! You’re still injured and dead on hook,” Quentin adamantly pointed out, but David was not about to back down especially not after being told what to do.

He went to stand in front of the other male, and then used his impressive stature and close proximity as a means of intimidation. “Y’gonna stop me brat?”

Quentin glared at David in annoyance, his hazy blue orbs firm with determination, and slowly voiced, “ _Don’t_ call me brat.”

“Well maybe if ya didn’ act li—”

“Me?” Quentin exclaimed whilst gesturing to himself and then pointing an accusing finger at David. “You’re one to talk! Charging at the killer like you’re immortal—”

“I keep ‘em distracted.”

“You go down too quickly—”

“Don’ fuckin’ lecture me!”

“—and then someone else has to waste time saving you.”

“Ya waste time overthinkin’ when ya shou—”

“At least I _try_ to plan instead of doing something stupid right off the bat.” A long pause ensued, a tense where Quentin had the common sense to backtrack away from him and his murderous glare.

“Ya callin’ me an idiot?” David asked calmly, too calmly given the look Quentin was currently sporting. The lack of response from the younger male, coupled with that insufferable gaze boring into him, caused the smoldering embers beneath his skin to finally ignite.

Quentin barely had time to react as David proceeded to yank him back by the collar and onto the ground. Next, he kicked the lad onto his back before delivering a solid punch to the teenager’s left cheek.

“Ya bastard!” David boomed with savage intensity, his striking blows continuously raining down on defenseless brat. “D’ya think you can just do wha’ever ya want? Say wha’ever ya want? Well ya _can’t!_ ”

Hit after hit was administered to the body below him, and he realized after a minute that Quentin was not fighting back nor making any attempts to block his blows. The boy simply laid there and took the beating like a meek little fool. Good; the brat was finally accepting his punishment.

“What the—David!” A pair of sturdy arms, too defined to be belong to any of the girls, tried to wrestle him off of the boy. “David,” Ace hastily voiced, “David stop!”

“There’s bloody consequences and it’s ‘bout time ya learned ‘em,” he seethed while aggressively shoving the gambler away. “Y’gotta start considerin’ the people ‘round you!”

Ace latched onto him again, his grip looser than before as he screamed, “Merda! David, for f—”

“YA CAN’T ALWAYS DIE FER EVERYONE ELSE!” David enunciated the last few words with a single punch each until he caught himself, bloodied fist frozen in the air. What had he just said?

“Argh!” he yelled in surprise, his body staggering sideways and upright when something sharp was jammed into his shoulder. Upon examination, he discovered a thick piece of glass sticking out of his jacket, the fragile shard managing to breach the layers of cloth and penetrate into his flesh. He yanked at the damned thing with a rough tug, teeth grinding briefly on removal.

“Are you okay kid?” David heard Ace ask.

Throwing the bit of glass away, he watched as the gambler slowly maneuvered the lad into a standing position. Ace then placed one of Quentin’s arms around his neck and presumably examined the damage David had done. The gambler’s mouth morphed into a frown, though his sunglasses obscured the rest of his expression, as he smoothed his fingers over the boy’s battered face. Quentin feebly groaned and winced every so often whilst flinching away from Ace’s touch.

“What the fuck’s wrong with _you?_ ” the gambler demanded, his eyes supposedly fixated on David as the teen spat out a wad of blood and then tenderly cradled a cheek in one palm.

David honestly had no idea how to respond to that. What the hell was he doing? In the beginning, he desired nothing more than to provide an attitude adjustment and rip a decent apology out of the younger male. Now, though, after what he had just done, all he knew was that he screwed up. Big time.

Quentin’s teary orbs glowered at David tiredly for a moment only to widen to the size of saucers. A second later and he found himself pushed unceremoniously to the side by the ballsy lad. Enraged, David whipped his head around only for his anger to immediately give way to shock and horror. Quentin was suspended in the air by The Shape, the killer eyeing him curiously as the lad dangled by his throat. The boy barely had the energy to struggle as Myers drove his kitchen knife repeatedly into Quentin’s abdomen, the resulting blood splattering all over his white latex mask.

“ _Bastardo!_ ” Ace cursed in utter misery, but to which male was unknown, and limped away from the gory scene. David figured the gambler was unwilling to aid him or die for him given the atrocity he had just committed, but he expected nothing less. Deserved nothing less either.

After ensuring his prey was sufficiently dealt with, The Shape threw Quentin’s body to the ground and David gazed blankly at the face of the cooling corpse beside him. The damage was familiar—black and purple blotches, split lips, swollen skin, and ample amounts of blood—yet did not inspire any pleasant feelings like it normally did. Instead a peculiar sensation began wreaking havoc on his innards: an oversized thump materialized in his esophagus, as if a rugby ball somehow became lodged inside the narrow pipe; his stomach ached, the gnawing sensation supplying him with the urge to vomit as the acid within brewed like liquid boiling in a kettle; and uncharacteristically heavy limbs denied him his ability to move, as if they were made out of stone. Was this some kind of mental shock? If it was, it was long overdue.

He truly _was_ an idiot. David never understood why Quentin bothered him so much, why the boy got under his skin in a way no one else had in a seemingly long time. He knew now though; he knew, but he would never admit it aloud.

David briefly registered being airborne courtesy of a hand coiled around his neck, the pressure painfully constricting, but he did not once tear his eyes away from Quentin. There was no point in thrashing for he already knew what was to come, and he welcomed death’s embrace. It was the least he deserved.

\--------------------

The reception he was greeted with at the campfire was expectantly poor. Some gave hollow glances, the disappointment clearly visible on their respective faces. Others held far more fury in their gaze, the heat practically setting him alit where he stood. Quentin was the sole exception on account of the guy being asleep. The lad’s face remained slightly bruised and swollen despite having been revived by the Entity which was an abnormality, but perhaps the damage they did to each other—not the killers—was the underlying reason. It was almost sickening to admit just how much those blotchy patches brought colour to Quentin’s pale, weary face.

“What the hell were you doing?” Bill demanded, the elder opting to start the verbal rollercoaster.

David went to speak only for Feng to march up to him and slap him across the face, and then began to swiftly rant in Chinese. It said a lot about how furious the Asian was if she was slipping into her native tongue.

“English lass! I can’ bloody underst—”

“ _You bastard!_ Quentin and I died because you decided to use him as a _punching bag?!_ ” Feng angrily screamed, her arms crossing over her body as she impatiently waited for an explanation.

“It wasn’ like th—”

“Really David?” Jake questioned with skepticism and disdain just oozing from his trap.

“It wasn’ like ‘at!” David reiterated with an elevated tone of voice. He did not possess the need to dignify himself, least of all to Park, but apparently the need was far too overwhelming to ignore this time.

The saboteur offered no further comment and merely shook his head in disbelief while Feng started slowly pacing in front of him, the tension in her face gradually increasing as her lips pressed firmly together.

“You nearly killed him!” Nea indignantly cried, as if stating the obvious would provoke an appropriate response from David.

He never intended to _kill_ Quentin. Just rough the teen up a bit, enough to teach him a lesson. As he pondered his logic, he recalled a similar instance with a certain burned arse and their unpleasant interaction awhile ago. Did Krueger not do the same thing to him in the basement of Badham Preschool? The Nightmare tossed him around like a rag doll and smashed his skull in as a means of forcibly drilling some education into him. Was he just as cruel as a killer? No, he refused to believe that; he was _not_ that cruel!

“Why would you do that?” Laurie chimed in next, her usual collected demeanor cracking at the edges whilst she stared disapprovingly at him.

Ace flipped an ace of clubs in one hand absentmindedly and, with his shades removed, David got an unobstructed view of the gambler’s teary, mud-brown eyes. “If I hadn’t been there, or if I didn’t get there in time…” Ace trailed off pointedly, the hidden message similar to the one explicit message Nea offered.

“I-I wouldn’ ‘ave kill—”

“So what the fuck happened?” Meg grilled him, her hands clenching and relaxing at her sides likely in an effort to compose herself. Her temper was a force to be reckoned with as well though she was not known to be violent—not like he was. “You don’t just smack somebody around for no good… well, yeah I guess you do.”

“Whatever the reason,” Bill piped up though he took a wee moment to suck in toxins from his cigarette, “it was uncalled for.”

“ _Completely_ uncalled for!” Feng hurriedly added, halting her frantic pacing in front of him. A glint of moisture was present in her dark eyes as she kicked dirt at his jean bottoms. “We’re supposed to beat the _killers_ , not each other.”

“I fuckin’ do—”

“You’re such an ass!”

“And your temp—”

“He still hasn’t ans—”

“Why couldn’t you just ta—”

“ENOUGH!” Dwight viciously yelled, his unusually strong voice effectively silencing everyone else when their words began to overlap and blur into a series of garbled noises.

Nine pairs of eyes landed on their leader as the man released a nervous cough and adjusted his crooked tie. His posture indicated that Dwight was about to jump into an assertive speech and, despite the resentment hovering in the air, David found himself rolling his eyes. Bloody Dwight and his shoddy speeches.

“W-While I’m just as curious as everybody here is ‘bout whatever happened between David and Quentin,” the leader calmly stated, “it’s none of our business.”

“Like hell it—”

“ _It’s not!_ ” Dwight sternly defended his claim whilst making eye contact with Feng, his gaze a subtle mixture of conviction and comfort. “At least not yet,” he amended after a moment, “but privacy is hard to have here, we all know this.”

No truer words could have been spoken. David was unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of several stinging slaps after accidentally witnessing a few of the lasses bathing and, to this moment, he will _never_ underestimate a woman’s strength again.

“So David?” Dwight then addressed him with a dictator-like demeanor.

David gulped around the thump in his throat, his nervousness physically manifesting as perspiration. “Ya?”

“Long story short, you… you’ve been a lot more, umm,” their leader paused, likely to consider the correct word, “ _hostile_ lately. In and out of trials.”

“No kidding,” Meg muttered under her breath though, for some reason, David’s ears picked up on it.

“It-It’s getting outta hand. And this,” Dwight gestured to the sleeping figure in between Laurie and Claudette, “is the final straw.”

“Wha’re ya sayin’?” David was almost afraid to hear the answer but he had to know.

“I’m saying, well _we’re_ saying,” Dwight waved an arm at the rest of the circle surrounding the campfire, “that you’re gonna have to take some time to reflect. Al-Alone.”

“Wha’?”

“You gotta leave,” Ace clarified when the statement did not immediately sink in.

Dwight raised his palms up to mimic a stopping gesture and then added quickly, “T-Temporarily.”

“As in…”

He let their words fully take root in his noggin, mulled over them for a mere second, before the real meaning took shape. No, no fucking way! “Are-Are you givin’ me a fuckin’ timeout? M’not some bloody child ya can just banish!”

“We are—”

“At least until you can learn to control your temper tantrums like a _good_ little boy,” Feng interrupted the gambler with a smug grin though her eyes still retained their prior, dangerous heat.

Good little boy? Why that arrogant, little cunt. “Ya didn’ just call m—”

“Then you’re gonna apologize to Quentin,” Meg cut him off, whipping her pig tails behind her shoulders, “and then, and _only then_ , will you be welcome at the fire again.”

“Your behaviour,” Laurie calmly added, “it’s just not healthy for any of us, or you. We’re just trying to help you see that.”

Their words tore into his already fragile mental state—like a knife cuts through a soft, rotten fruit—as his fingers gripped tightly at his short hair in an attempt to distract himself. This was not help, it was _harassment_. Speaking of help, there was one member he had yet to hear a peep out of.

“Claud?” David asked the only person whom had yet to vocalize her opinion of the matter. The expression she wore when he addressed her was not a comforting one which had him sweating more. Not her too; this was pure rubbish!

“I…” the botantist weakly petered, her attention shifting briefly to the sleeping teen at her side. After a prolonged second, her eyes sought him out and the grief-stricken look she gave him crushed the remnants of his mental barriers. “I think some time to yourself might do you some good,” she finished faintly and then turned away as if the mere sight of him caused her pain.

Flabbergasted, David stood there motionlessly as his brain failed to wholly comprehend this disastrous mess. He had not even been given the opportunity to explain himself and it was probably pointless even to try. Their minds were made up, but he would not go quietly. Not without a fight.

“Y’gonna force me ta leave?” David lowly asked, his irritation surprisingly hidden in his tone. “Go on. I dare ya ta try.”

Nea stood from her seat, her slim stature unusually imposing, and then answered for everyone else with, “If we have to, then yes.”

That bitch! David, fueled by his temper again, made to approach them and fight for what he believed to be unjust, yet he stopped himself. Their expressions became more guarded, as if anticipating a potential attack, and some of them had even taken up signature stances they utilized in trials against their killers. It was mildly insulting but more so… heartbreaking.

These were the very people he would laugh and play games with, the very people he shared his many stories with, the very people that he chose to protect with his life. They were his friends, his cherished mates, the only ones he had left for all he knew… and maybe they were right.

David bit his tongue, balled his fists in painful spheres, and scrunched up his eyebrows in an attempt to suppress the dangerous blaze flaring within him. He was _not_ going to lose control; not this time. He released one final howl at the pitch-black sky above and stomped his way into the treeline, the near darkness accompanying him as he restrained his fiery emotions and resisted the urge to bash someone’s skull in.

There was a first for everything, and it was high time he learned to control his temper.


	6. Struggle As You See Fit

As his vision adjusted, Quentin was met with the familiar, and slightly tedious, sight of trees. He sat upright and ran a hand underneath his T-shirt, his fingers finding nothing save for smooth skin to which he puffed out a sigh of relief at. He despised the feeling of a blade carving into his flesh but at least Myers did not screw around and ended his suffering quickly—unlike a certain someone he knew all too well.

Facing The Shape usually was not terribly easy except when the man opted to shadow them for most of the trial, silently observing their movements until it was time to strike the killing blow. For such a large and bulky individual, the mute killer was quite stealthy. The only thing that blew his cover was his signature, white latex mask. It was that very detail which allowed Quentin the time he needed to save David, rushing in at the last second to spare the scrapper from certain death.

“Save David,” he muttered bitterly under his breath whilst rubbing at his sensitive face.

Given the beating he endured a short while ago, it was Quentin who required saving. His decision not to fight back stemmed from his unwillingness to fuel the man’s rage and, by not responding, he had hoped that David would stop. In hindsight it was a very poor plan, but no other options presented themselves to him in the heat of the moment.

Thinking back to the conversation that sparked such outrage, Quentin had not explicitly called David an idiot but, yes, he supposed it was implied. If there was one thing he had learned about David King, it was that the brawny man thought primarily with his fists; there existed no problem David could not solve with violence.

He had heard his fair share of stories from the others and seen firsthand the damage David inadvertently caused them. While the scrapper’s actions spoke volumes about his protective nature, his methods were not something Quentin greatly approved of. Though he too frequently placed himself in dangerous situations he, unlike David, drew in only a fraction of attention—with the exception of Freddy. Just enough to keep the killer interested but not excessively so as to avoid being downed too quickly. He assumed David was lucky from time to time with his cocky behaviour but what was the point if your friends were left to pick up the pieces?

The lack of cooperation between him and David was another issue that bogged down the latest trial. While they had a rocky start, he thought working together in trials would reconcile their pointless fight. No such luck. The man was naturally aggressive and pointing out his flaws the way Quentin has done was like pouring gasoline on a raging fire.

And what was it David had said to him again? Something about dying? He was a little preoccupied trying to stay conscious at the time so he failed to hear the scrapper’s words properly. Admittedly Quentin was curious about what David had said, though not enough to approach the other male anytime soon; the phantom pain that lingered in his cheeks and jaw were strong deterrents against such an action.

Ultimately, regardless of their differences and their fights, there was one thing Quentin knew for certain: he would  _not_  leave the scrapper for dead or abandon him in his time of need.

Like everyone else here, David was a person worth saving. Quentin was not about to condemn someone to death, or worse besides, based on their personality. After all, the anger the man displayed on a near constant basis may very well be just a front to conceal other emotions, emotions which David desired to remain hidden. Quentin could relate to this though, in lieu of anger, he hid behind pseudo contentment. Just as there was more to him than what he expressed on the outside, there too was more to David.

The hope of learning more, of establishing a positive friendship; that was the reason he had saved, and will continue to save, David.

He knew the scrapper was more than capable of taking care of himself but everyone needed help sometimes, even if saving the man resulted in him being beaten black and blue. He wished this were not the case and, more than anything, he just wanted this drama to be put to rest. He fought almost ceaselessly as it was and he was so exhausted. While receiving a permanent break from the chaos here was not an option, less battles—especially pointless one—were a choice second.

Quentin clutched loosely at his cross pendant and recited a wordless prayer, something he usually did when his thoughts became too overwhelming. It was as much of a habit as it was a coping mechanism.

Upon re-opening his eyes, he raised a single eyebrow in confusion. Was it always this dark? Glancing around, he noted the lack of fluorescent fungi and flowers in the vicinity. It was an oddity and the only viable explanation he could conjure up was that this was an area Claudette had previously culled through for medical ingredients. Although, the botanist normally left something behind as a source of light for anyone wandering about. Humming suspiciously, he proceeded aimlessly through the woods, his arms extending outward to help guide him from tree to tree. The darkness stretched beyond his line of sight and the lack of light was starting to become a nuisance. If he tripped on one more raised root, he was going to scream bloody murder.

Two minor stumbles and one foul curse later, Quentin was forced to stop as a seemingly large obstacle blocked his path. Said obstacle was indeed another tree. Several trees in fact, all of which felt as though they were fused together by their respective trunks. His hands grazed the impenetrable wall of wood for a time until a spot of colour drew his eye in. Just a little ways away, a dull orangey-red light shone through a narrow gap in the substitute wooden wall. This was a strange phenomenon, even for this place, and it made the hairs on his neck stand up. Something was off.

Ignoring his better judgment, Quentin stepped closer and shimmied through the tight opening. Once through, his eyes widened significantly as he took in his surroundings on the other side: the grungy machinery, the intermittent steam flitting through the air, the eerie lighting, and the horrible smoky smell. It was the goddamned warehouse; this was the dreamworld.

“Oh no,” he uttered in alarm, his body instantly adopting a defensive stance.

“Oh yes.”

Quentin whipped around to face the familiar voice as his gaze landed on his worst nightmare. Freddy then greeted him with a swift backhand, the impact forcing a grunt out of him and sending him flying to the ground. Tuning out several annoying chuckles, Quentin shook off the hit, bolted upright and immediately sprinted away from the other. It had been awhile since he actually fell asleep but he would deal with it as he always did now: find fractures and wake the fuck up before getting gutted.

As he initially predicted, dying in the dreamworld did not permanently kill him in this horrific world. Freddy discovered this truth the hard way yet his reaction to witnessing Quentin alive once more was peculiar. Instead of rage or displeasure, the man seemed oddly pleased or perhaps even happy; he was unsure. His uncanny ability to reincarnate did not stop Freddy from slaughtering him but Quentin had noticed a distinct decrease in deadly encounters. He hated it as fewer deaths meant his stay in the dreamworld was prolonged and chases such as this one were drawn out for the bastard’s amusement.

He ascended and descended multiple rusty stairways and ran across numerous catwalks all the while avoiding swipes from the dream demon. While Freddy had yet to land a successful hit, Quentin knew it was only a matter of time; the man was known to be patient but not overly so.

He was beginning to lose hope as his brief surveys of the area revealed nothing lifesaving. That was until a fire erupted behind a wall of pipes on the ground level, the bright blaze of colour capturing his attention. Even from such a distance, he could definitely see that both the fire and the pipes looked misshapen, too much so for it to be a coincidence. This was it!

Ducking under another broad swing, Quentin backtracked to the nearest staircase and rushed over to the pipes. The fracture was only mere _inches_ away.

Just as his outstretched arm went to breach its barrier, the environment changed and his hand smacked against a solid surface. It was a locker or, more accurately, his locker from high school. Panicked, his hands scrambled along the row of off-white lockers in front of him, desperate to find some sort of give where none existed.

“No, no, no, no—”

“And you were  _so_  close too,” Freddy taunted, that smug voice of his drawing a growl from Quentin.

Turning around, he eyed the man with a frightful yet unwavering gaze. He gulped slowly in an effort to maintain his composure and then asked, “W-What did you do?”

“I thought you’d appreciate a little change in scenery,” Freddy spoke with a wave of his hand, blades fluttering elegantly in the air as he approached Quentin. “Isn’t it nice? Makes you feel nostalgic... and this gives us more time to  _play_.”

Quentin shuddered at the way the bastard drew out the word play, and he definitely disliked the nauseating, Cheshire grin directed at him. Wait, give us more time? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Unless... oh no. Freddy could not have possibly found a way to remove the fractures from the dream world. No way!

A body suddenly slammed into him, repulsive hands gripped at his biceps and effectively pinned him in place as the silts of the locker bit into his back.

God he was such an idiot. Freddy had played him, missed his swings on purpose, and purposely lured him towards the fracture just to savour the moment of ripping it away from him at the last second.

Now the dream demon held all the cards and there was nothing Quentin could do about it. Regardless, he was not about to play  _anything_  with this fucker. It may be pointless to struggle, but fighting was better than surrendering to whatever twisted games Freddy had in mind for him.

He thrashed against the other male, his body squirming and his fingers clawing uselessly at the dream demon’s wrists. Quentin instantly stiffened when blades nestled into the dip of his neck, their metallic tips not pressing in too deeply but the threat was there. One false move and they were likely to imbed themselves in his jugular. While he no longer feared death as strongly as before, he still very much feared pain, and Freddy delivered it well. He was just going to have to struggle smarter now, not harder.

“What’s the matter Quen? You seem uncomfortable.”

Quentin’s eyes darted every which way, anywhere except the mangled face invading his personal space. Though it was impossible to ignore the shiver crawling up his spine as disgusting breath hit his face. He needed to get away somehow. Snapping fingers drew his attention back to the man crushing him into the lockers.

“It’s not nice to ignore your elders.”

Annoyed, he spat a wad a spit at Freddy and hit the bastard square in the eye. The burned man was unamused, mouth scowling as he wiped at the gooey muck with his sweater sleeve. As punishment, the bastard pushed his finger knifes a little deeper into the flesh of Quentin’s throat, the blades finally drawing forth a trace amount of blood. Instead of going for the kill or berating him, Freddy’s ungloved hand was placed overtop of his T-shirt. Said hand then slowly trailed downward in an almost teasing fashion, fingers wrinkling the tree-like design as they moved. Once at the bottom hem, the hand slid underneath the thin fabric to lightly stroke at the warm, semi-toned skin there.

“W-What’re you doing?” Quentin squeaked while desperately trying to ignore the tickling sensation. His breathing became rapid as the offending hand began to rise upward. Goosebumps formed freely as more and more of his sensitive flesh was fondled.

Freddy laughed, guttural and mocking before he replied, “You don’t remember? You used to love this.”

“D-D-Don’t.”

Horrible memories started bursting through the careful mental barricade he enacted. His hands trembled at his sides and hints of moisture collected in his orbs as a leathery hand touched his nipple. Fuck this! He could care less if he died; anything was better than reliving this hell.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” Quentin hatefully screeched as he drove his knee into Freddy’s crotch.

While he was not proud of using the tactic against David, he had zero qualms using it on Freddy. The blades had miraculously skimmed past his throat without causing any further damage as the blow itself made the dream demon stagger backwards in surprise, but sadly not in agony. Nevertheless, it created enough distance to allow Quentin to escape and he booked it down the hallway, his shoes squeaking across the waxed floor in his wake. Rounding a corner and nearly tripping over himself in the process, he continued to run as Freddy’s obnoxious laughter echoed throughout the corridor.

Out of nowhere Quentin abruptly fell through the floor, the once solid surface suddenly morphing into a liquid. Momentarily stunned from falling into water of all things, he went to re-emerge until something grasped at his ankle. Looking down, he saw a smirking Freddy holding onto him as the man began dragging him down.

Not again; not another drowning attempt. Freddy was truly going all out to make him fear water, and Quentin was ashamed to admit that it was working. His arms and legs floundered frantically as he tried to break away from the man’s grip. The longer this went on, the more it reminded him of his previous near-death experiences involving water, and it filled him with an unshakeable sense of hopelessness. His vision started to tunnel as the remaining oxygen in his lungs was used up. Then the hand keeping him underwater mysteriously disappeared and Quentin drudged up the last ounces of his strength to quickly ascend.

He released a powerful gasp as he breached the surface, his hands shooting out to hold onto the pavement as he coughed up the last bits of liquid trapped in his airways. Pavement? Yes, it was indeed pavement he was touching and the water he was partially submerged in was a puddle in the middle of a lit, rainy street.

He had almost drowned in a fucking puddle? Unbelievable.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Quentin hoisted himself out of the puddle, the excess liquid cascading onto the pavement loudly as it fell off of him. The sudden chill of the nighttime air urged him to wrap his arms around his chest for warmth. His soaked clothes clung to his skin uncomfortably as the pouring rain only added to the problem.

A glance around the street revealed nothing of worth though several colours dancing along the blacktop did give him pause. Cranking his neck around, he discovered that he had been standing in front of the Springwood Diner, the large red neon ‘N’ in sign flickering every so often. Quentin ran to the building and attempted to get inside but the door was stuck. Peeking through the rain-streaked glass, he saw only empty booths and tacky décor.

“Dean, what’re you doing?”

“You’re not real!”

Wait, was that Kris’s voice? And Dean’s? There was no way it could be them. Jumping off the stairs, Quentin dashed to the window and peered inside through the blinds. There, in the middle of the aisle, was Dean holding a streak knife to his throat while Kris stood a ways away.

“Dean stop it, Dean. Dean stop it—” Kris abruptly suddenly when Dean plunged the gleaming blade into his neck.

“Dean! DEAN!” Kris screeched at the top of her lungs as her love interest finished dragging the knife across his throat.

“No... no way,” Quentin muttered with wide teary eyes, his voice barely audible in the heavy downpour. “That-that’s not real. That didn’t happen.”

As he backed away from the gory scene, he was forcibly grabbed and thrown onto the wet blacktop. He cried out as he hit the ground, his back throbbing and shivering from the impact. The gritty slickness of the wet asphalt chafed his palms as his hands elevated his upper half into a sitting position.

Staring up at Freddy, who now sauntered over to him from the sidewalk, he stuttered out spiteful, “ _You bastard!_  You k-killed him. You-You—”

“I didn’t do a thing. That was all Dean. Sliding the knife across—”

“Shut up!”

“—his throat, blood  _gushing_  out.”

“You sick fuck,  _shut up!_ ” Quentin yelled whilst covering his ears with his hands in an unsuccessful attempt to block out the mental image.

He never knew the specifics regarding Dean’s death and he did not want to upset Kris by asking her for details. The police, being the inattentive closed-minded idiots that they were, ruled it as a suicide but he knew that had to be a lie. He had always known it was Freddy’s doing, especially after Kris and Jesse ended up dead too. He just never imagined Dean’s death to be so disturbing, and for Kris to watch it actually happen? He felt so bad for her. Maybe if he had lingered longer in the diner then the incident could have been prevented. There were a lot of what-ifs but it ultimately mattered little as the both of them were already long gone. It was not enough to stop his mind from running through the scenarios though, trying to conjuring up happier outcomes. Anything to make him feel better. What he would not give for another chance to undo it all and send Freddy to hell for good.

Glaring venomously at the monster above him, he whispered a disgusted and firm, “Fuck you.”

Speedily tackling Freddy onto the pavement, Quentin punched the other once in the jaw and then pulled the man’s battered hat over his eyes. He may not be able to hurt Freddy here but he might be able to slow him down. Quentin rose to his feet, delivered a hard kick to the bastard’s hat-covered face, and fled swiftly down the street.

At least that was his intention until his feet slid and he fell harshly onto his back, his head smashing on the asphalt with a slight crack.

He groaned softly, a hand gingerly rubbing at his wet scalp as spots invaded his vision. Wishing to find the source of his tumble, Quentin surveyed the blacktop to find a random icy patch underfoot. In fact, it was now snowing in front of him. Large fluffy snowflakes coated the bottom half of his legs yet it continued to rain on the other end of him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Freddy chided disapprovingly above him, an index finger moving from side-to-side with each little noise. “That wasn’t very nice. And if you’re not gonna play nice…”

The dream demon then effortlessly straddled his hips and grabbed his flailing arms. Freddy next maneuvered both of his hands into a single fist and forced them into a small, deep puddle above his head. Quentin struggled to free them, to throw off the bastard on top of him, but his hands would not budge from their watery cage—held there by some unknown force.

His sneaker-clad feet on the other hand were slowly being encased in solid ice. It was really cold, so cold, and his teeth started chattering in response. Quentin tried to dislodge the ice by kicking his feet against the pavement but, unfortunately, it was too thick and any dents that were made in the frozen water were immediately repaired. He whimpered and then promptly screamed as the chilly bite of the ice began to burn at the flesh beneath his clothing. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes at being unable to escape; he was completely at Freddy’s mercy. The realisation was almost as horrendous as the actual pain itself.

“Shh,” Freddy cooed at him whilst brushing locks of damp hair away from his forehead, the gesture drawing forth more tears and panicked breaths. “You always make things so difficult.”

The dream demon leaned down to latch onto his neck, the small nicks there from those damnable knifes stinging as the man’s slimy tongue ran over them. Quentin trembled violently when Freddy’s teeth joined in to graze at his jugular, the blunt edges mostly teasing yet digging in every so often. A gloved hand then lifted up part of his soaked T-shirt to run gently over his torso, the blades leaving behind shallow scratch marks.

Denial was building up in his system as every touch made his skin crawl and drove him closer to the brink of insanity. This was not happening. Please God, he internally pleaded, do not let this happen. What had he ever done to deserve this fate?

When a hand made contact with his clothed groin, Quentin let out an extended and anguished shout of immense disapproval.

“Quentin, wake up!”

He was not about to endure this, absolutely not. “ _No!_  No, fuck you, no—”

“Quentin, it’s oh—”

He swung at Dwight, his fist colliding with the leader’s jaw with a tiny crunch. It was bad enough that Freddy was molesting him, but now the prick had to impersonate a friend while doing so.

“Don’t fucking—”

“STOP IT!” Meg screamed, her furious face coming into view as he gathered his bearings.

Quentin suddenly realised that he was no longer in the dreamworld. He was lying on the ground next to the campfire, his head cushioned on top of his vest. In fact, there was a small circle of people clustered around him now too, each sporting some degree of worry in their expression.

Dwight patted Meg on the shoulder in reassurance while massaging his jaw with the other, and then explained, “You were screaming and-and crying in your sleep.”

Quentin swallowed shakily and scrubbed at the liquid under his eyelids. His breathing slowly receded to a normal rhythm before he quietly asked, “W-Where—”

“Don’t worry,” Nea interrupted with a satisfied smile, “David’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s been officially banned from the fire until he cools his jets.”

“And when he  _apologizes_  to you,” Feng added with emphasis.

Is that who they thought Quentin was dreaming about? David? It was a plausible conclusion now that he pondered it, and then his eyes quickly widened in horror as he remembered the hit he gave Dwight.

“Oh God! Oh Dwight, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay Quentin,” the leader held up a hand to halt any further rambling, “I-I don’t blame you.” Quentin went to argue otherwise but no words came out, his desire for peace outweighing his need to apologize.

Nea then crouched in front of him, though making sure not to startle him, and then gingerly asked, “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

Quentin made to speak a second time but paused and merely shook his head mutely at her. He would rather forget about that encounter, preferably sooner rather than later.

“Did you guys get out?” he inquired in an effort to change the subject as he redonned his vest.

Ace gave him a sad look before he answered, “I found the hatch behind the auto shop, and David cashed in his chips shortly after you.”

“Oh,” Quentin murmured softly in disappointment. He had hoped that the three of them could escape together, maybe find a key since fixing generators was too time consuming. “Feng?”

“Died too,” Feng spat but then her face lit up in fierce determination. “Ain’t gonna happen next time though.”

“How ‘bout explaining what happened last trial?” Meg interjected, her earlier fury gone and replaced by a guilty frown. “Your face’s still as red as my hair.”

Dwight gave the redhead a stern look before he supplied her with a reminder. “Meg, it’s none of our—”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Quentin blurted out, “or the trial.”

His mood was already miserable and learning that his death was nearly meaningless did nothing to improve it. This kind of discussion was best reserved for later, and with the appropriate person. Besides, Dwight was right. Quentin and David were meant to settle this dispute alone, and it had to end. The next time he saw David, he was going to do his damnedest to fix things between them. No one else should have to die because of their poor choices.

“Maybe you should catch some more shut eye?” Ace suggested and nodded his head in Quentin’s general direction. “You look tired.”

Quentin stifled a bitter laugh at such a suggestion as sleep was the very  _last_  thing he needed right now. “I always look tired, and thanks but I’m alright.”

A tense silence followed, the crackle of the fire being the only source of noise in the vicinity. Needless to say, it was started to get a little unnerving and he was going to go crazy if something did not happen soon.

“How ‘bout a game?” Quentin proposed to the small group, voice thankfully even.

“I like your thinking cutie,” Nea stated with a thumbs up, and then pointed a finger at Ace with a smug grin adorning her face. “We’re playing Bullshit and you’re gonna lose this time.”

“Well how can I say no to such a lovely young lady?” the gambler questioned sweetly, his eyebrows wiggling mischievously.

The tag artist skillfully plucked Ace’s sunglasses off of his face and uttered, “And no shades either clover.”

“If you wanted to see my charming eyes, all you had to do was ask,” the gambler stated with a wink to which Nea responded by playfully smacking his arm.

Feng stepped in between Ace and Nea to boldly declare, “Oh I am  _so_  getting in on this and you’re all going to lose.”

“Count me in too!” Meg exclaimed excitedly. “You guys in?”

“Actually I was hoping for a rematch of my own,” Quentin said and then turned his head to address Dwight. “I still need to beat you at checkers, if you’re up for it?”

Dwight smiled at him and nodded his head in approval. “I’ll get the rocks if you draw the board.”

Quentin mirrored the other’s warm smile and started drawing said board, his fingers carving distinct lines into the loose sediment. He subtly shifted his shirt to ensure that no scratch marks were visible. The markings on his torso were the only ones noticeable now as the tiny holes on his neck were practically non-existent thanks to their mysterious captor. His ankles and feet were still tingly and smarting, likely due to frostbite, but he did not want to risk taking a peek. Quentin was not about to garner any more unwanted attention right now; he would simply endure the pain. He has had quite enough attention for a  _long_  while.


	7. It Is Never Too Late To Apologize

David had not returned to the campfire since being forcibly banned. True to his inner pledge, he had made a serious effort to reign in his temper. Of course keeping away from triggers—namely his fellow survivors—helped immensely.

He took his reflection time, as Dwight so delicately put it, to practice calming exercises such as deep breathing and meditation. The exercises were in their early stages and, hence, prone to failure. As a result, he had often resorted to using tree trunks as punching bags when said exercises failed. Though he should not, he preferred striking a tree over any calming exercise; the sharp, burning sensation from his knuckles scraping against the coarse bark felt incredibly liberating. Pulling out the resulting splinters every time was the unfortunate downside, the task becoming quite a nuisance yet he continued regardless. All in all, the calming exercises were mostly tedious but they did offer some relief—just not as much as he was expecting or desiring.

Deep breaths were moderately helpful, but he found himself needing a secondary source to focus on for the technique to work effectively. Said source came in the form of tracing patterns on a single leaf or counting the total number of fungi and flora in his immediate vicinity. His personal favourite source though was recollecting every drink he had consumed in the many pubs he went to in his lifetime. Each drink, the pleasant buzz and blissful ignorance it induced for but a single moment, reminded him of a world far less complicated. A world where he took what he had for granted. Although, if memory served, drinking brought out the worst of his anger and violence.

Not that he ever complained but a pub housed a far different, more rowdy crowd than the one he was accustomed to here. As such, violence and anger fit well within those places. This world however, for all its terrifying bullshit, made him realize the importance of restraint. A concept so foreign and, heaven forbid, so insulting that it would have never crossed his mind back in Manchester. Why restrain who you were? The answer was crystal clear now: for the sake of forging sincere bonds. His drinking buddies were dear to him but they never truly cared for one another, not like the people here did—even if their concern for him had recently dwindled. Nevertheless, their friendship surely was something worth fighting for.

Only now he fought an internal battle, a battle of wits as if were, and he was determined to win.

Getting back to his calming exercises, meditation in comparison to deep breathing was murder on his joints. Being immobile for so long made his limbs stiff and numb, and then there was the unsettling silence. David was at peace when some sort of noise around, usually from other people. Without it though, there was nothing to drown out the voice in his head. The voice was honest, brutally so, and spoke as if it were scolding him like his own mother used to. It drove him insane, the frustration so strong at times that going a couple of rounds with his substitute punching bags were necessary. Yet he found himself listening to the voice, trying to decipher any logic behind its words. Was he going to lose the only true friends he had ever known? He knew he would not let that happen, not without resistance, yet the doubt remained ever present in the back of his mind. Were his attempts to control himself in vain? He hoped not but it was proving to be quite a challenge, the speed of his progress being almost ludicrous.

Was he an idiot? Yes. Yes he most certainly was.

When David was not working on his temper, he was exploring the vast wilderness. If this world convinced him of anything it was that there was such a thing as too many trees. The stationary, wooden obstacles stretched on forever as if there was nothing else worthwhile to occupy the region. A building or two was not about to hurt anything save break the repetitive cycle. Speaking of more of the same, he stumbled upon a few more ponds too, none of which were too spectacular but additional options were always nice—especially given his current predicament.

However, his most notable finds were the miscellaneous items scattered throughout the area. One was a sturdy, well-stocked toolbox that would have even the ever stoic Jake Park gushing in awe. A rock-like and slightly chipped mortar and pestle was another, something he knew Claudette would greatly appreciate. The last, believe it or not, was a full can of violet hairspray which the girls could probably get some use out of. That is if they were into hair colouring but, if not, perhaps Nea might like it for drawing her tags.

David had left his findings on the outskirts of the main camp. It was like leaving a peace offering without getting the appropriate closure. He initially thought to deliver them in person but the fear of rejection persuaded him against doing so. Instead, he ended up putting them all together at the base of a thin tree. He circled the items with a few fluorescent flowers so they could be easily spotted, and then disappeared into the darkness of the woods as he was not about to linger where he was unwanted. He just hoped that the others accepted his gifts. For now though, he had some important exercises to contend with but the Entity decided to intercept him by whisking him away for a trial.

\--------------------

This latest trial plopped him in the middle of a misty forest, the same forest where his very first trial occurred. The area had poor visibility, the fog seemingly thicker this time around, but there were plenty of obstacles which made hiding a little easier. If he played his cards right, he could walk out of here without having to interact with the killer.

David immediately set out towards the main lodge since he knew his teammates were likely going to avoid heading there at the start. A generator constantly appeared on the second floor but its position was dangerous, even with the fog reducing visibility, for survivors—drew too much attention. As predicted, David ascended the stairs to discover the machine sitting silently on the wooden overlook. Better get started.

He found himself repairing generators alone more than anything else during trials now. His motivation to provoke and lure the killer was admittedly not as strong as it used to be. If he distracted the killer, he often wound up on a hook which led to him requiring rescue, and his attempts to unhook himself were shoddier as of late. His friends, if he could call them that anymore, still came to his aid but most did not stick around to heal him afterwards. It stung, more than he ever believed it would, but he understood their actions. After all, he had yet to apologize to a certain pale-faced, weary-eyed teenager.

Up until now, David had yet to experience another trial alongside Quentin. Maybe the Entity was not eager to put the two of them together after he smashed the lad’s face in. Although, he admittedly was not actively trying to seek out the boy either. A flurry of thoughts regarding their scuffles flitted through his mind yet, for all of his time spent in isolation, he was unable to transform those thoughts into proper, apologetic words. A simple sorry was obviously not meaningful enough but what else was he supposed to add? It was not like David went around apologizing to everyone he had ever fought with before. Hell this was probably his first time doing so unless, of course, he was drunk and could not remember doing it beforehand.

A loud revving of a chainsaw from inside the lodge caused David to hastily jump off the balcony and sprint away. Remaining up there by the machine was not ideal and being spotted would surely kick-start a chase. While he was not averse to running the killer around, not a single generator had been completed as of yet. If he baited the killer, he might inadvertently lead the chainsaw wielder towards one of his allies which, in turn, slowed down their progress and potentially prevented everyone from surviving. Christ he _hated_ how responsible he was becoming. It made him feel like he was losing his fiery edge, a piece of his unique personality slowly fading away into nothingness. Its loss better be worth it.

Thankfully, the killer decided not to follow him or perhaps did not see him at all. Halting his stride, David came across a sparking machine surrounded by several wooden walls. The damage to the generator signalled that the chainsaw wielder came through here, but it appeared as though nothing else transpired. At least he guessed not considering the pallet nearby was still intact and there were no blood pools to be found.

Keeping a sharp eye out, David wordlessly began reversing the damage on the kicked generator. Only a few correct wire connections remained and then, once completed, he was going to finish what he started back at the lodge. The killer may prevent him from fixing the machine there, but he could keep the chainsaw wielder there instead of attacking his teammates elsewhere.

His fingers faltered when a light touch to his shoulder startled him and, with his heart racing, he reared backwards only to receive a palm plastering over his mouth.

Claudette was suddenly crouched next to him, her gaze worried as she whispered, “Please don’t shout. It’s just me.”

David released an extended breath through his nose in relief, his surge of frightful energy depleting temporarily. Had she been hiding close by the entire time? Honestly, all of the lasses here were overly stealthy which was arguably a great ability against the killers, sure, but not allies.

“Hey,” he commented quietly when the hand was removed, his orbs briefly inspecting the botanist to discover an interesting change. “Yer ‘air?”

“Do-Do you like it?” she tentatively asked, a hand nervously brushing aside a stray lock covering one eye.

Her hair, once long and held back in a ponytail, was now cut short and wavy. The bottom ends of the strands also had a distinct violet tint to them which brought a smile to his face for his gifts had apparently been put to use.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He wagged an eyebrow at her in a suggestive manner before asking, “Did Dwight like it?”

It was no secret that there was some connection between Dwight and Claudette, and he wondered if anything happened in his absence. Not that he was expecting anything substantial to have occurred since the both of them were fairly introverted individuals, but the thought was nice here: the idea of having someone special to cherish in this hellhole. Of course there was plenty of time for something like that to flourish because, from what he could tell, they were doomed to remain trapped in this place for eternity. Thus, they might as well get as comfy as possible.

Claudette lowered her head as she faintly chewed at her lower lip. “He-He did,” she stammered out in an embarrassed tone, “he said the colour highlighted my face and complimented my eyes.”

“‘Bout bloody time,” David murmured beneath his breath, his fingers diving back into the guts of the generator to finish the repair work.

“It’s not just mine either,” Claudette added whilst taking up a position on the opposite side of his machine. “Nea has an all violet pixie cut now too. It’s really pretty.” A few seconds later and the generator roared to life, the light burning through the lingering patches of fog in the enclosed space. “And, well, thanks for the supplies. You wouldn’t believe what finding that mortar and pestle means to me.”

“Think noth—” David was rudely interrupted by the sinister revving noises of a chainsaw closing in on their location.

Before he could react, Claudette had latched onto his arm and quickly ushered him behind a large rock. Shortly afterwards fleeing the scene, The Hillbilly staggered towards the miniature maze of walls. The sounds of grass and dirt shuffling about were the only indications of the killer’s lingering presence, and the following guttural grunt had David chuckling under his breath. Poor, slow bastard.

“We miss you David,” Claudette abruptly whispered beside him, her voice low and her hand still tangled in the fabric of his jacket sleeve. “Will you be coming back to the fire soon?”

He really did not want to be having this conversation right now—especially not during a trial or with The Hillybilly nearby. The last thing he wanted was to acquire _more_ hate because he wasted time yacking instead of helping. “Claud—”

“Quentin’s been searching for you for awhile now,” she helpfully informed him. “He wants to patch things up with you, put the past in the past.”

David released a semi-annoyed exhaled and then replied with a vague, “It’s complicated.”

Hillbilly be damned, he needed to get out of here. _Now_.

“Please don’t go,” the botanist pleaded, her grip scarcely tightening when he tried to leave. “You’re shutting everyone out, and it’s scaring me. You-You’re not acting like yourself anymore.”

“Thought you lot wanted me ta change?” David questioned accusingly, his words riddled with irritation and likely matching his heated gaze.

“Not change. We only wanted you to tone down the aggression,” she hastily clarified, her expression as genuine as her gentle tone of voice. “You’re our friend and we don’t want to fight you.” A light pull on his arm urged him down until he was sitting on the ground, the dew droplets on the grass wetting his pants from the contact. “Please,” Claudette implored, her coffee-coloured orbs misting as she held his gaze, “talk to me.”

David took a few deep breaths to gather his thoughts, his desire to be done with this outweighing his urge to walk away. Maybe getting things off his chest would help and there was no better person to open up to than the compassionate botanist. It still did not make this any easier but Claudette apparently was not about to let him go. Before learning to control his temper, he would have just shaken her off and stormed away without a second glance. Now though, now he owed it to himself, and to the other survivors here, not to act like a complete arse. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

“There-There was this lad I knew back in Manchester, young guy named Alexander. Didn’ think much of ‘im at first but…” he trailed off as his mind swam with painful memories, their faint sting remaining after all this time. Claudette merely sat there patiently, her hand moving from his sleeve to clutch at his hand likely for support. “I’d see ‘im ‘round from time ta time, find ‘im doin’ somethin’ for someone else. Lad was too selfless for ‘is own good.” David let out a small, tender chuckle to mask the growing unease plaguing his insides. Keep going, his brain encouraged and, for once, he listened.

“I _officially_ met ‘im one night outside a pub in an alleyway tryin’ ta defend some bum ‘gainst a couple of drunken blokes. He was gettin’ ‘is arse ‘anded to ‘im so I stepped in,” he recollected with a slightly grave tone, his orbs tracing the length of an overly long blade of grass. “When I ended it, I yelled at ‘im fer pickin’ a fight he couldn’ win. But he… he just grinned, looked mighty chuffed with himself and said, ‘It was worth it mate.’”

“He sounded very brave,” Claudette remarked softly though, thankfully, did not ask any questions.

“Ya,” David responded absentmindedly while squeezing the botanist’s hand a little tighter. “We weren’ close mates or anythin’ but I respected ‘im… the bloody prat.” He began to blink rapidly to remove the moisture clouding his vision as he trembly revealed, “Th-The last time I saw ‘im he was, he was lyin’ dead in the street. The peelers, uh, they claimed some arse ‘ad gutted ‘im when he got in the way of a robbery.”

The botanist was quiet for a minute, seemingly deep in thought, before tossing out, “And you blame yourself for his death?”

“Somethin’ like ‘at.”

“David, it wasn’t your f—”

“If I ‘ad been more forceful on the night we met, then maybe… I dunno. He could’ve done great things, he _should_ ‘ave, but the little bastard was so bloody stubborn.” His breathing was getting shakier with every word that passed through his lips and David did not know how much longer he could tolerate this emotional agony. “Quentin’s a lot like ‘im,” he resumed when Claudette sympathetically patted his knee. “I know death don’ matter ‘ere but I just couldn’ stand listenin’ or watchin’ history repeat itself. At the start, I lamped him for ‘is shite attitude but it was more ‘an ‘at. It _always_ was and, fuck, I just—”

David ceased his rant when his head was smooshed into scratchy fabric, his skin greedily soaking in the warmth it offered. Claudette apparently had wrapped her arms around his neck in an uncoordinated hug which surprised him as he believed that she would fear him after harming Quentin. Such an embrace was mildly uncomfortable to endure but he leaned into it all the same, his arms circling around her torso in reciprocation. He was not above shying away from comfort, and especially heat, when it was given so freely.

“I’m so sorry David,” Claudette muttered in sympathy. “I’m sure it must’ve been hard for you.”

David shoulders shook as he choked out a rough, “I managed.”

“But I’m pretty sure beating Alex up wouldn’t have stopped him from doing what he felt was right.”

“It cou—”

“Just like beating Quentin up won’t stop him from doing what he feels is right,” she spoke over his words, her palms lightly kneading his neck.

“I…” he tried to argue otherwise but his voice went silence. While it was within his power to make a difference, he had no right to force his beliefs and desires on another. Apparently his friends were not forcing him to change, not completely, so why should he be entitled to force anyone else to? Any choices made by Quentin were his, and his alone, to commit to. All David could do was be there for him, stand by his side just like he stood beside everyone else here—something he was never able to do for Alex. “I know. I wasn’ thinkin’ clearly.”

“You were angry.”

“I was,” David easily admitted without shame, “but ‘at’s no excuse.”

“No, it isn’t, but _I’m_ not the person you should be convincing,” she reminded him whilst maneuvering her hands to grasp at his shoulders. Her kind orbs locked with his, her gaze somehow giving him strength of conviction, before the botanist stated, “When you’re ready, talk to Quentin. I know you can do it, and the sooner you do, the sooner the both of you can heal.”

After collecting himself, David nodded at her and slowly stood upright with a renewed vigor to tackle any and all challenges. He decided then and there what must be done: after this trial, he would seek out Quentin.

\--------------------

He, Claudette, Dwight, and Jake all managed to survive the trial together since The Hillbilly kept failing to snipe them off of generators with his chainsaw. Whatever strategy the killer intended to use clearly failed and David had a big, cocky smile ready for The Hillybilly when the killer chased them out of the realm.

Once the four of them emerged from the thick fog and into their homely forest, David turned to his teammates and happily voiced, “Thanks guys.” Dwight and Jake both shared confused looks while Claudette smiled at him knowingly.

The lass lifted a finger to point at a tree marked with two arrow symbols and said, “Follow the double arrows until you reach the pond and then take a left. He should still be gathering supplies for his med-kit.” The fondness in her voice when referring to Quentin and medical supplies did not go unnoticed by David. It was obvious that Claudette had gained a worthy pupil to pass on her knowledge of medicine and botany to.

He thanked the botanist with a beaming smile and waved his goodbyes before seeking out the lad. It was a surprisingly short search and David was simply grateful not to have tripped over the teen this time. Quentin, looking as though he was nodding off, was sitting against an enormous tree trunk, his hands sluggishly fiddling with the contents of the medical pack in his lap.

“Quentin?” Said boy jumped hurriedly to his feet at the sound of his name being called, the contents of his medical kit flying in every which direction. His hazy blue eyes, slightly glassy in the aero blue lighting, were blown wide open in panic until he saw exactly who had startled him.

“David?”

“Shite! ‘ere lemme—”

“No, I got—”

Both cried out as their foreheads collided when they bent over at the same time to collect a roll of gauze. Quentin, lightly groaning after the impact, removed his grey beanie to better massage the affected area while David found himself laughing aloud from the whole ordeal. What a way to start off an apology.

Quentin just stared at him confusedly, as if he were suddenly mad, before asking, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” David voiced between peels of laughter, his palm attempting to stifle his noises. Why was this so damn funny? “This isn’ goin’ how I expected it.”

“Uhm, okay. Anyways—”

“So Claudette says you’ve been, erm, lookin’ for me?” he quickly interjected, his posture unintentionally adopting a sheepish stance as tried to prepare himself for the real apology.

“Yeah,” Quentin readily confirmed whilst readjusting his beanie on his head, “I wanted to apologize for what I said.”

“Ya don’ gotta—”

“And for kicking you when you were trying to help me.”

“It’s oh—”

“It wasn’t right!” the lad harshly insisted, his gaze reflecting a hard glint. “I mean, we’re supposed to be helping each other and all we’ve been doing is arguing and fighting.”

“I know—”

“And I know you kinda hate me, but I _don’t_ care,” the teen powerfully added as he began to pace. “We at least have to work together in trials ‘cause our fighting is hurting everyone.”

“Quen—”

“They’re our friends and we shouldn’t let our differences affect them. Fuck they’re _dying_ because of us, and I refuse to let that happen again.”

“Will ya sh—”

“There’s already enough killers out there trying to murder us so we sh—”

“QUENTIN!”

Quentin abruptly stopped pacing at his thunderous shout, gulped and squeaked out a nervous, “Y-Yeah?” David noted how the lad hunched slightly, his lanky form practically radiating with fear as if he was expecting to be hurt again.

“Y’gonna let me apologize now?” The teenager’s ranting was hilarious to listen to, and even more entertaining to observe, but he really needed to get his two cents in before his resolve crumbled away.

“What? Oh, right, sorry.”

David chuckled a little and then cleared his throat to speak. “M’sorry for bein’ an arse and lampin’ ya. I shouldn’ ‘ave done it.”

“It’s okay.”

“It really ain’t,” he stressed with a sense of regret. “I nearly killed ya, probably would ‘ave if Ace weren’ ‘ere.”

“I guess—”

“Why did y’just lay ‘ere though?” David then questioned with avid curiosity. “Ya shoulda defended—”

“I didn’t want to make it worse. I figured you’d stop if you saw I wasn’t fighting back. Guess that sorta backfired huh?” Quentin uttered, one hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“I shoulda stopped soon—”

“Did-Did you want to?” Quentin interrupted, the cross pendant hanging from his neck being pinched between his thumb and index finger rather tightly.

“Want to?” David repeated dumbly, his eyes observing as the lad let his head droop for a spell.

The teenager, after releasing a stiff exhale, lifted his head up to stare at David, cesious orbs looking subtly vulnerable, before he muttered the simple word, “Stop.”

He hesitated to speak the truth, fearing the repercussions, but Quentin was eyeing him expectantly with a look that practically screamed his knowing of the answer already. “No,” he narrowly choked out, “not at first.”

Tears collected in the lad’s eyes as he let out a dejected, “Oh.”

“But I—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s _okay?_ It’s not bloody—”

“I told you before,” Quentin stated whilst furiously wiping at his watery eyelids, “I _don’t_ care if you hate me, I just don’t want to fight. We gotta—”

“I don’ ‘ate ya Quen,” David muttered, feeling the need to finally set the record straight.

“You… don’t?”

“No, and I neva did. I’m a temperamental bastard and y’didn’ deserve anythin’ I did ta ya. M’tryin’ ta be a betta person but it’s not somethin’ that’s gonna ‘appen overnight. But, ‘at being said, I... I’d like ta start over. I-I know I don’ deserve a second chance and you’ll prob—” Quentin suddenly extending his right hand towards David had him pausing to stare at the hand in confusion.

“I’d like to start over too.”

“Just like ‘at?” David inquired in a small voice, his mind not fully grasping the unexpected ease of the situation.

The lad delightfully hummed in affirmation but then sternly warned, “But this is the last time. I _won’t_ forgive what happened during that trial again. If it does, I don’t think I could—”

“If it ‘appens again, I’ll personally lamp myself after everyone else’s ‘ad their go at me. Christ, I’ll even let the killers murder me a ‘undred times over.”

“Please don’t,” Quentin barely spoke through his fit of giggles, the guarded expression he wore fully dissolving. It was a pleasant sight to witness, the humor doing wonders to dispel the unnerving tension afflicting the both of them.

“And thank you fer protectin’ me from Myers,” he threw out when all grew quiet once more. “Not sure why ya—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what friends do for each other, right?”

Friends? “I don’ think I was really yer friend at the time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the lad adamantly defended. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

David smirked at the of the sincerity of the statement, pushed a thumb to his chest and then boldly declared, “Not before I return the favour.”

Quentin repositioned his hand between them and David too extended a hand outward as their hands grasped at each other in a firm handshake.

“Thank you David King,” Quentin contently emitted, a genuine smile adorning his face for the first time since they met.

David matched the smile and replied with his own elated, “Nah, thank you Quentin Smith.”


	8. No Trust

After making amends with David, Quentin returned to the campfire with the scrapper in toe. It was strange watching the usually brash man act so anxious. David had assured him that he was fine, playing up the bravado with a big smile, but the gesture was not terribly convincing. Perhaps the other male had doubts about whether their friends would accept him back and, honestly, so too did Quentin.

It was naïve of him to believe that everyone would forgive the scrapper outright. Though he was certain a select few would, no questions asked, just to end the irritable tension slowly eating away at the group. He did not believe for a second that anyone would shun David permanently. At least he hoped not. If all else failed, he could vouch for the man as no good came from everybody bearing a grudge against the scrapper. He knew that better than most since his grudge against Freddy was extremely detrimental to his health.

A random thought then occurred to him. Had David actually lied to him just to gain favour with the others and be welcomed back at the fire? His sincerity and nervous fumbling during their talk seemed legitimate but how was Quentin to know for sure. Time will be the best indicator but, in the meantime, he had to have faith in the scrapper and hold true in the belief that these violent incidents had truly been put to rest. He was so tired of fighting with David, despite there being only a few events to speak of, and he was positive everyone else was just as fed up with it too.

Clearing the treeline, he and his nervous travel companion were met with nine sets of eyes, the majority of which were wary of the duo.

Feng sat on one of the random logs, arms folded across her chest, and leered at the scrapper. “You boys have a _nice_ chat?”

“Yeah,” Quentin replied while ignoring the hostile undertone in her question. “David apologized. Everything’s fine now.”

David patted Quentin on the shoulder with gratitude but moved out from behind him to utter, “Not yet it ain’t.” The scrapper then stepped closer to fire and, in turn, closer to everyone else. “I-I ‘ave somethin’ ta say.”

He cautiously observed as David waited for everyone to supply their undivided attention to him before the man released a shaky exhale. Please God, Quentin offered up the plea in his mind, let this not end in a complete disaster.

“I’m sorry,” David earnestly conveyed to the wary and fuming group. “I’m sorry fer all the trouble I caused ya. I shouldn’ ‘ave done wha’ I did ta Quentin,” he spoke whilst gesturing to the teen with a wave of his hand, “and m’sorry for bein’ such an arse.” Several individuals looked like they wished to comment but David pressed on before any words were vocalized. “I’ve been workin’ on my temper and I think it’s gettin’ better,” he proudly claimed, his fingers twitching at his sides. “But actions speak louder ‘an words. I don’ wanna be ‘ere if I’m not welcome so I… I’m askin’ for a second chance. A chance ta prove myself… if, uhm, you’ll let me.”

A tense moment followed with a silence so thick Quentin swore he might hear a pin drop from across the campground. Everyone was eying each other with varying looks, most of which appeared skeptical or possibly angry and had him worrying that David was to be banished again. To prevent such an outcome, Quentin went to speak, to try and smooth over the apology, but Claudette beat him to the punchline.

“I’ll let you have that chance,” she expressed with a smile to which David bowed his head in response to. Quentin felt his mouth morph into a small grin for the botanist as she truly was too kind of a soul—for this, and any other, world.

“S-So will I,” Dwight added, “but don’t _ever_ do something like that again.”

“I won—” David started but was interrupted when the leader raised a hand into the air.

“As you’ve said, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ So you better live up to those words.”

“Fuck it, you got my vote,” Meg casually stated and then placed a hand on her chest to admit, “I can be pretty aggressive at times too. Not nearly as bad as you, but I understand the need for an outlet. To release the pent up, uh… whatever,” she finished weakly, her arms waving wildly in front of her to make up for her lack of better wording. “As long as that outlet _isn’t_ us.”

David snickered as he rubbed at the back of his head, and then confessed, “The trees ‘ave been my outlet.”

“Perfect!” the runner enthusiastically shouted whilst giving the scrapper a fist bump in approval.

“What?” Claudette worriedly squeaked shortly afterwards. “You’ve been bandaging your hands right? The amount of scrapes and splint—”

“Don’ worry lass. I’ve been takin’ care of myself.” A few chuckles and a breath of relief followed until Laurie decided it was her turn to speak, her solemn expression and stiff posture left Quentin feeling scared for whatever she was about to say.

Casting her robin egg blue eyes on David, the babysitter declared in a firm voice, “I’m gonna be honest with you David… I’ve lost a lot of trust in you.” Now that was unexpected. Well, actually, it _was_ to be expected but Quentin did not think Laurie would be the one to say it—perhaps Feng or Ace, but not her. “But all the drama around here isn’t healthy,” she resumed after a minute, her tone slightly more relaxed. “Sooner or later something’s gonna give, and more than anything I just want all this to stop. So if Quentin forgives you, then I’ll give you another chance.”

“Th-Thanks lass,” David stuttered before recovering the strength in his voice. “I’ll do my best ta earn back ‘at trust.”

“I’m with Laurie on this,” Feng piped up in the absence of anyone else doing so. “The level of bullshit during trials is really annoying. I have a record to maintain here and I’m _not_ losing it over whatever the hell this is now. So,” the gamer paused dramatically and then thrusted a finger at the scrapper, “no more bullshit. Got it?”

David gave the gamer the strangest look, something akin to confusion or surprise, before uttering a neutral, “Got it.”

The burly man then turned his attention to the tag artist who was currently sporting a frown, her eyes sizing up David—assumedly with scrutiny. She appeared to be harbour greater amount of frustration as opposed to anger which Quentin figured might be a good thing, and he hoped that Nea was willing to forgive David. He had heard that the two of them were pretty close before all this which meant that their friendship, or whatever their relationship was classified as, may be more difficult to salvage.

Before Quentin allowed his worry to run rampant, the tag artist released an uneasy sigh and then warned, “I’ll give you one chance stud. Don’t blow it.”

“Knew a guy that was prone to an outburst or two,” Bill chimed in after David exchanged words of gratitude with Nea. “‘Specially when someone mocked his _precious_ vest. Aggression’s a decent motivator on the battlefield but not when your comrades are the target. He… learned that the hard way.” The level of emotion in the veteran’s voice was a rarity, and Quentin was not the only one to notice as the comment sparked several curious glances in return. “I don’t wanna see you go down the same path he did. So you have my forgiveness, but don’t make me regret it,” Bill concluded gruffly and then, thank heaven, stubbed out yet another infernal cigarette.

With seven successfully convinced to give David a second chance, that left only Ace and Jake to express their opinion on the matter, both of whom did not look all too forgiving.

Ace was the first of the two men to get the ball rolling by stating, “Look, I know the kid’s kind of an emotional marshmallow.”

“Hey!” Quentin indignantly exclaimed, his cheeks flushing in sheer embarrassment. An emotional marshmallow? Really? What sort of nickname was that?

“He easily forgives people for their stupidity,” Ace resumed without concern, “and, merda, after watching what you did to him…”

He noted how David tensed at the gambler’s words, his large hands clenching into fists and his head lowering ever so slightly downward in what Quentin supposed was shame. Given that Ace was present for the majority of his beating, the teen could understand the man’s uncertainty. It was one thing to experience being pummeled into the dirt but another thing altogether to witness it happening. His anxiety flared as Ace continued to sit in silence, the gambler’s critical gaze boring into David.

A minute passed, with the eerie quiet disturbing a few individuals, until Ace eventually let out a tired sigh and shook his cap-clad head. His previously folded arms uncrossed to twirl his sunglasses in one hand whilst the gambler said, “But if the kid says it’s fine then, I guess I can give you a second chance. I just don’t like it. There’re only so many times you can chance something before it blows up in your face.”

Out of everyone here, Quentin had believed Ace to be the one to not forgive David but he was overjoyed to be wrong. It was a weak forgiveness mind you, but it still fell into the category of forgiveness all the same. At least David was granted the opportunity and hopefully there would be no further hostility between the two men.

“Jake?” Dwight hesitantly addressed the last individual yet to voice his thoughts.

Jake, like some of the others, had his arms crossed over his torso. The expression the saboteur wore appeared guarded and hostile, as if he was preparing for an assault from David, and Quentin suddenly felt his gut twist at the sight. Supposedly the relationship between Jake and David was even rockier than the relationship he shared with the scrapper, and this incident may have been the final rock to tip the balancing scale.

The survivalist, with dark eyes boring into the scrapper incredibly coldly, uttered a curt, “No.”

“No?” David emitted in a slightly peeved tone.

“I never trusted you completely before,” Jake declared evenly. “Now I have no reason to at all.”

“Jak—”

“You’ve been nothing but a thug and a burden ever since you got here,” the saboteur slowly continued to explain and in an creepily calm fashion. “Always pulling stupid stunts in trials, always needing to be coddled after throwing a tantrum. Now you’re being forgiven after almost murdering someone? No.”

Quentin snapped his vision to the tight fists David now possessed, the shaky hands accompanying a change in breathing. The survivalist approached the scrapper, such that both males were mere inches away from each other, and whispered something to David. Said whispered words were muffled so Quentin, and likely everyone else, could not make them out. Whatever was spoken though was obviously not very nice as David immediately swung at Jake, his massive fist connecting with the saboteur’s cheek as the man fell sideways to the ground.

“Ya fuckin’ bastard!” David bellowed and proceeded to attack the downed man, his blows being expertly dodged. The others rushed in to separate the two males when their protests failed to break up the impending bloodshed. Ace and Bill did their best to hold David back whilst Dwight and Laurie held back Jake. Meg and Feng then placed themselves in between the two furious men, the two tough females acting as impenetrable walls, for extra measure.

Quentin went to help as well until he noticed something being pressed into his upper back, the pressure slowly becoming more prominent as the seconds stretched by. His brows furrowed and his heart began to race when a leathery hand suddenly found the back of his neck and squeezed warningly. He needed not to turn around to see who it was. It was _him_ ; it was always him and his godforsaken mind games. Quentin, upon feeling a sensation glide across his back again, discovered that the pressure was coming from Freddy’s blades. The metallic tips ran down his spine as the pressure continued to increase, even so where they breached through the fabric of his vest and shirt. He did not wish to simply stand still but his limbs felt petrified, his body refusing to produce any action save for trembling helplessly under the burned man’s touch. Why could he not just be left alone?

“Stop it,” Quentin whispered uselessly as he stared straight ahead at the scene in front of him. The others were not physically here, not in the dreamworld, but he could still see them. Yet, within his mind, Freddy had simply frozen their forms in place as if pushing the pause button on a video.

A few deep chuckles broke through his concentration, the overly delighted noises nauseating to listen to. Then, a slight burning sensation erupted from his lower back when those claws began cutting into his flesh, and he had to screw his eyelids shut to stop any moisture from spilling free.

When the claws retracted and then set their attention on the waistband of his jeans, Quentin freaked and released a violent, “STOP IT!”

Upon opening his orbs, he noticed that everyone had diverted their sights over to him. Briefly reaching around to paw at his backside, a slick wetness instantly coated his palm as it skimmed over the injured area. Another micro-nap? Seemed like it, and leave it to Freddy to mess with him at the worst times. While his outburst was intended for a different audience, it worked well for this situation too. Playing it cool and ignoring the pain, he discreetly wiped his hand clean on the back of his jeans before addressing everyone.

“That’s enough! We’ve gotta stop fighting each other,” Quentin implored with watery eyes.

Before anything else—an argument, an agreeable comment, anything—could transpire, a chilling fog rolled in and engulfed David, Ace, Jake, and Nea.

“Oh geez,” Bill muttered under his breath, and Quentin wordlessly shared the same opinion on the matter. What were the odds?

“Play nice boys,” Meg warned whilst Jake and David glowered at each other, their respective orbs never once straying from the other, until they disappeared from existence.

Feng gave the athlete a sideways look before stating, “They’re gonna kill each other.”

“Without a doubt,” Meg agreed instantly.

“Why can’t things just be normal around here?” Dwight tiredly whined while slumping to the ground, his palm pressing lightly against his forehead to illustrate his frustration.

Claudette moved to crouch beside their leader, placed a soft hand on his knee and then said, “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. We just need to be patient with them.” A redness was quick to spread throughout Dwight’s cheeks, the vibrant colour along with his clumsy stammering being utterly priceless to witness.

“Can I talk to you? Privately.” Laurie’s hushed voice tore Quentin away from the chatter. When had she suddenly materialized beside him? He really needed to start being more attuned to his surroundings, though it would be infinitely easier to do so if he was not constantly sleep deprived.

Quentin nodded and followed Laurie into the woods all the while being mindful of his bleeding cuts and torn clothes. The others apparently were unconcerned with their departure as they sounded to be too engrossed in their own conversations. That was a good sign, yet maybe this randomness with Laurie was not—it was a little perplexing to say the least.

Why did the babysitter wish to speak with him, and privately for that matter? He did not think there was anything to discuss unless it involved David. Maybe Laurie thought the scrapper had not actually apologized to him, or perhaps she assumed David had forced him into saying what the burly male desired. His head began to pound as the possible options overwhelmed his mind. Calm the fuck down, his brain chided when it became overwhelmed with pointless thoughts. Yes, there was no point in fretting over the unknown as it would only make him sick otherwise.

They eventually came to a stop in front of a pond, this specific waterbody a popular one given its close proximity to their little campground. Perhaps not as visually majestic as some of the others out there, but the soft breeze pushing tiny ripples across the surface of the water was still a mesmerizing sight. Laurie lowered herself down into a cross-legged position, patted at a spot on the dirt next to her, and waited for him to take a seat beside her before speaking.

“How are you Quentin?” A neutral question, one probably posed out of habit or nervousness.

“I’m good,” he answered automatically, his confusion as to where this conversation was heading beginning to peak.

“Are you su—”

“I’m alright Laurie, really.” She was quiet for a moment as she stared out into the water and, in light of her silence, Quentin figured that he might as well ask the obvious to avoid any further awkwardness. “Why’d you bring me out here?”

Again she remained silent for the longest time, her orbs shining delicately in the poor lighting, before blurting out, “Michael Myers killed my friends.”

“What?”

“Before being taken here,” she clarified shortly afterwards. “It was Halloween night, and my friend Annie and I were babysitting two kids, Tommy Doyle and Lindsey Wallace, across the street from each other. It was supposed to be a fun, quiet night.”

From her tone, it was obvious that she did not have a fun, quiet night. “Wh-What happened?”

“Annie came over and left Lindsey with me while she went to pick up her boyfriend Paul.”

“I thought she was supposed to be babysitting with you?” he questioned to which Laurie laughed at before her eyes grew distant. It looked like she was recollecting a pleasant memory, or what he hoped was one, and Quentin did not wish to interrupt her musings.

Their memories of their former lives were precious here. While his—and likely hers too from the sounds of it—were not all comforting ones, he could not deny the happiness they occasionally brought him. Jesse landing his first date with Kris, his utter joy being instantly replaced with panic when he could not think of a suitable place to take her to. Dean, Kris, and Jesse giving him his cherished cross pendant for his sixteenth birthday, a welcome addition to place alongside his medallion. The little smiles he and Nancy would share when they passed each other in the school hallways between classes. Most precious, however, was the short but tender kiss he had with Nancy—he would never forget that moment.

“She was,” Laurie interrupted his train of thought, “but she had plans with my other friend Lynda and her boyfriend Bob.”

“Weren’t you in on their plans too?” Quentin asked while tilting his head inquisitively.

“I wasn’t interested in what they were planning to do. I was happy watching the kids. We carved jack-o-lanterns, made popcorn, and watched scary movies,” she uttered with fondness, the teeny grin ghosting at her lips causing Quentin to smile inwardly. “It was nice.”

“Sounded pretty fun, and mostly quiet too.”

“That part was,” she admitted, and then her robin egg blue eyes suddenly became impossibly dark. “And then Lynda called asking where Annie and Paul were. I thought that they were running late or stopped off somewhere.”

“But they didn’t?”

She stiffly shook her head and replied, “No. Then I-I got another strange call. I thought it was Annie, but I couldn’t tell. There was some squealing and then the only noise I could make out clearly was heavy breathing.” Quentin waited patiently as Laurie took a couple of seconds to brush stray hairs out of her face, and he had a horrible suspicion that she was hesitant to voice the next part. “After tucking the kids into bed,” the babysitter started up again only softer than before, “I went across the street to the Wallace’s house, where everyone was supposed to be, to find out what was going on. The lights were all off when I got in but then I heard a noise from upstairs. I went to go look and I-I… I found them. Annie… Lynda… Bob. They-They were all dead,” she whispered, voice fully cracking as she turned her head away from view.

Holy shit! All this time Quentin had thought Laurie had been sucked into this world with her mentally unstable brother she never knew existed until being taken by the Entity. Additionally, the others claimed that The Shape’s obsession with his sister stemmed from his supposed illness, his morbid fascination with her. He was never told that Myers murdered any of her friends, but he guessed that she did not divulge such information to them.

Nevertheless, he was unable to watch the young woman beside him suffer any longer. So Quentin decided to pull the female into a non-threatening sideways hug. If Laurie was anything like he was, even this kind of gentle contact might cause problems so he left her with a means to get out of the embrace. Thankfully she did not retreat or flinch away and instead simply opted to rest her head on his shoulder, her shaking figure the only noticeably distressing sign as her cries were skillfully stifled.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured while holding her close. “I-I know what you’re going through. Freddy killed my friends. It wasn’t in one night like you, it was gradual. And we knew it was coming too. He—” Quentin hastily stopped himself before he revealed too much. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Laurie even though they barely spoke to one another. Some things, however, were too personal. “Why tell me all of this?”

“I meant to tell you a long time ago but I never got the chance.” She paused for a moment, her gaze locked on her hands as she fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “We’re different from the others here. I could tell the moment you first told us about The Nightmare. We—”

“We’re trapped here with the very people trying to kill us,” he offered, his words coming out a little harsher than intended.

“Yeah,” she somberly agreed. “I just thought you should know that you’re not alone.”

“Well, neither are you.”

Now he understood. Laurie was seeking comfort, comfort from the trials and from the chaos at the campground, but not just from anyone. She wanted comfort from someone that could _actually_ relate to her situation. Quentin also surmised that she wished to give her own form of comfort to him, the only person that could even remotely comprehend her predicament. Bill might be a worthy candidate to offer comfort as well, given his experiences on the battlefield, but the veteran did not have an obsessive killer continuously hounding him. He and Laurie did and, as he now learned, they had a lot of other things in common too. Their age, their deceased friends, the post-traumatic stress disorder they both suffered from, and the nightmares. The last aspect being far worse for him as he doubted The Shape was able to physically harm Laurie while she slept—though he was sure the psychological damage did plenty of harm on its own.

“With everything happening between you and David, and what goes on between you and Krueger… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Are you okay?” he countered whilst avoiding her potentially subtle probing. “I know our fight’s been hurting everyone including you, and you also have Myers to worry about.”

“I’m about as okay as you are.” So not really okay at all; got it. “I’ll feel a bit better when everything settles down. At least at the fire anyways.”

Quentin had his doubts about anything settling down and he found himself questioning her belief. “You think it will?”

“I know it will,” she spoke determinedly, her orbs perking up from their sullen appearance. “This can’t go on forever and I know the others won’t let it.”

“And you?”

“I’d rather the boys fix things between themselves. It’s more meaningful that way. I’d rather not get involved but I will if I have to.”

“Same,” he confessed in response to both parts. Getting in the middle of that battle practically spelled suicide, but letting it drag on till the end of time was not happening either.

Quentin exhaustedly sighed, his palm stifling a sneaky yawn as he contemplated the recent events. Any type of argument or scuffle here really did affect the rest of the group. Badly. He never knew just how much stress it caused until now, and the stress would only persist so long as Jake refused to forgive David. And how long would that take? Jake Park was an introvert, like himself, however the man seemed to harbour a lot of repressed anger. While David vented his anger freely, Jake bottled his up. The saboteur also had some trust issues. He himself possessed said trust issues too, so did Laurie for that matter, but they were more subtle and friendlier about it.

“Thank you Quentin,” Laurie whispered as she pulled out of his hold and gave him a little, grateful smile which he happily returned. “I’m here for you if you wanna talk.”

Quentin guessed that Laurie was hoping for him to open up now, or just more often in the future, but he was thankful that she did not press for information. She was rather clever about leaving her statement open-ended though; however, he did not want to burden her with his problems. She already had enough on her plate and even more so dealing with her brother. It saddened him to know of her struggles and he vowed to interact with Laurie more often. Lord knows she deserved the joy of a lasting and cheery friendship.

“C’mon,” the babysitter urged as she ascended to her feet. “We should head back.”

“Actually I think I’m gonna stay here for a bit. Might take a nap or something.”

Laurie seemed pleased at his mentioning of taking a nap and merely nodded in comprehension. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. And Laurie?” She partially swivelled around and emitted a humming noise to inform him of her listening. “Thank you,” he expressed in a low and grateful tone. She had done more for him than she even realized and he hoped the feelings were mutual. Quentin watched as Laurie gave him another nod coupled with a little, almost shy, wave of her hand and then headed back in the direction of the campground.

Once he could no longer hear her footsteps, he collapsed fully onto the hard ground. The cuts on his back stung as dirt pushed its way in but he paid little mind to it. It was pointless to waste resources, especially ones in constant demand, for something so minuscule if the injury was going to heal itself anyways. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he stared blankly into the pitch black sky, his mind swirling with several thoughts as it always seemed to do.

Laurie sort of reminded him of Nancy. They had different personalities, sure, but they were both objects of obsession. Nancy had always been Freddy’s favourite while Laurie appeared to be Michael’s favourite. It could nearly be poetic if it was not so disgustingly disturbing. Nancy, though, was safe from Freddy whereas the babysitter was not safe from Myers. At least Laurie was fortunate enough to only encounter the man within the occasional trial or two. Quentin, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

Through their heart-to-heart, and from her actions towards him, Quentin assumed with confidence that Laurie did not _actually_ know of his murderous nightmares as he had initially feared. She had merely been upset over his wellbeing. Maybe she thought he was hurting himself? That would explain her behaviour during their trial together with The Trapper but, like before, he did not dare risk asking her outright for fear of being in the wrong.

His insatiable desire to sleep was causing his eyelids to heavily droop but Quentin willed the feeling away with a rapid shake of his head. He disliked lying to Laurie about taking a nap but the relief she displayed when he spoke of it was worth uttering the untruth. He really did not want anyone worrying about him, and now especially her. Yet that was all anyone seemed to do these past trials: worry. It was no wonder everyone was so stupidly tired and snappy.

Quentin placed a hand behind his beanie-clad head whilst his finger thumbed at his two precious trinkets—the cross and the medallion. He then gingerly closed his eyes and offered up a wordless prayer. Please, he internally begged, just let the fighting stop. Was a little peace and civility really so much to ask for or were his prayers simply being ignored?


	9. The Freedom Of Choice

David opened his hazel-green eyes to see several wooden walls surrounding him, an inactive generator sitting to his left and a stairwell to his right. He spawned in the ever-constant shack with the basement right fucking there? What a fan-bloody-tastic place to start. In lieu of working to repair the machine, he immediately began slamming his fists into the closest wall. His previous fury and dejection remained unbridled, the strong emotions scrambling his thoughts and clouding his judgement.

“Bloody pompous fuckin’ arse!” he enunciated each word with a punch, the brute force of it breaking skin as his blow connected with the vertical planks.

Damn Park, the bastard; he had hardly believed his ears regarding Jake’s whispered words to him. It probably should not have upset him so much, especially given the source, but it did and he reacted badly, his chance of redeeming himself lost the moment he socked the bird-loving arse.

More curses flew out of his unfiltered trap, his mind reeling from his own stupidity. Angry tears fell from squinted eyes as he continued to abuse his knuckles, his breathing becoming labored and his screams turning into wheezes. The stinging cuts and bruises had prevented him from inflicting further damage to himself, but not this time. Unlike before when he pummeled tree trunks, and when his actions were mostly diligent, he did not stop launching fist after fist into the wall. No amount of physical pain, not even breaking a knuckle, could make him desist. A few more swings and his knuckles turned completely bloody, and each scrape against his broken flesh left behind a touch of crimson which formed a sort of abstract design on the wall.

The scrapper finally ceased when it became too difficult to breathe, his legs collapsing out from underneath him as he fell to his knees. He drove one final fist into the floor for good measure as the internal pain refused to disappear. It felt like he was suffocating, both mentally and physically, with his only companion being the depressing voice inside of his head.

“Nice tag,” a feminine voice complimented from behind.

“Huh?” Cranking his neck to the source, he spotted Nea ogling the spot on the wall he had just bullied.

“It’s a little simplistic,” the tag artist critiqued as she moved to stand in front of the blood-stained planks, a finger tapping at her chin in contemplation, “and I would’ve gone with a different colour, but you have some potential.”

Despite his current mood, a small snicker managed to escape between his lips. Only Nea could do this to him: say or do something so out of the ordinary that the only appropriate response was to laugh.

Being surprisingly cheeky, he peered up at her with a smirk and admitted, “I wouldn’ want ta outdo ya.”

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t,” she lightly spoke whilst she squatted down to his level, placed the toolbox she was carrying on the floor and proceeded to bandage his hands without permission.

“I can—”

“Nope.” Heal myself, he was about to say but apparently Nea was not about to let him do that.

In all honesty, he was shocked that the tag artist was even helping him to begin with. A twinge of guilt surfaced when David realized she was setting aside time to help him instead of repairing the generators.

“Why’re ya—”

“Heard you wailing,” Nea interjected and subsequently answering whatever question she thought he was about to voice. “Thought the killer found you but it turns out you were just expressing yourself artistically.”

“Heh. Sorry ta be so much trouble.”

She finished tending to his cuts though her powder blue eyes remained downcast as she quietly uttered, “We needed to talk anyways.”

Yes, they _really_ did need to talk. “M’sorry ‘bout earl—”

“Stop apologizing and shut up for a second.” Well, okay then. Speaking again would be pushing it as his luck was already thin to begin with, and he was not about to start testing her patience. He knew all too well what an angered Nea was like.

The tag artist sighed and took a minute to get comfy on the floor, her arms positioning themselves to rest on her raised knees. She appeared nervous, or maybe a bit mithered, which in turn caused his stomach to churn.

“Y’know, I hated my parents for moving to the States,” she confessed in a venomous voice. “They took away everything I held sacred… but I could never hurt them. It was always their dream to move there, live a life of luxury instead of working themselves to death.”

Courtesy of Nea herself, David knew a fair bit about her childhood: the happy picture she painted of her past making it sound like some kind of fantasy. He was also aware of her move from Sweden to the United States, but she left out the part about how much it actually affected her.

Nea tilted her head upwards to lock eyes with David and then said, “That hate, it was eating at me from the inside out. I couldn’t let it go on so I started acting out. Doing whatever I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. All to avoid confronting my parents.”

“And it saved ya from lashin’ out at ‘em?”

“Pretty much.” She paused for another moment, her eyes turning glassy whilst her lips curved downward. “I-I should’ve told them how I felt ‘cause they _obviously_ couldn’t figure it out for themselves.”

“When we get outta ‘ere,” David firmly expressed, though with sincerity, to his closest mate, “yer gonna tell them.”

Although even he did not believe his own words, but there was nothing wrong with hoping for a brighter tomorrow—both figuratively and literally. No one ever truly appreciated something until it was ripped away from them, and boy did he miss a great many things: the warmth of the glowing sun; the pleasing taste of a cold drink; the boisterous cheers and boos of the pub crowd when a game was being aired. It all seemed like a distant dream now.

“Yeah,” she muttered after releasing a few sniffles, her tiny finger coming up to harmlessly poke him in the chest. “Anyways, you need to starting talking more and punching less.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” he breathed out in annoyance at being scolded.

“So you’ve said. I just don’t wanna see you spiraling out of control like I did. It-It was never, uhm, I mean… it just sucked okay.”

David was at a loss for words, but decided to offer a simple thank you and then pulled Nea into an awkward sitting hug. He did not want to pry for any further details as the topic was clearly difficult for her to bring up. It was, however, nice to know that he was not the only one to suffer with bouts of rage. He knew Meg too experienced aggressive moments and, like Nea, she probably had her own way of expressing it. David supposed his way of venting was the worst given that it involved lamping the absolute crap out of people.

Nea removed herself from his embrace, lightly punched his shoulder and covered her gloominess with a saucy grin. Next, he watched her grab her toolbox and shimmy closer in front of the inactive machine whilst David joined her on one of the adjacent sides. They repaired the generator together wordlessly and, for once, it was a comfortable silence.

“So what did broody bird say to you anyways?”

Spoke too soon, and of course she was going to ask about what Jake said. He should not be surprised given that Nea was naturally inquisitive like Meg—sometimes worse than Meg if his memory was accurate. Honestly, both girls were like two peas in a pod, their respective personalities complimenting each other like perfectly.

“Y’don’ wanna know.”

“But you’re gonna tell me,” she smartly deflected his deflection with her own version of one. Additionally, her statement was not a question, one which left zero room for argument. Guess it did not really matter whom he told as the saboteur probably would not deny its truth. The guy was an arse but at least he was honest, brutally so in most cases.

David sighed before he begrudgingly grumbled out, “He said, ‘You’re nothing but a greedy predator that devours everything it pulls into its web. You deserve to be alone.’”

He tried his best to imitate Jake’s accent but it sounded so weird exiting his mouth. The tag artist paused her tinkering to gasp, her mouth forming a crude circle, and then stammered out a few unintellectual sounds. She was likely too stunned to form coherent words yet it was the exact reaction he was expecting.

“You’re joking. He actually said that?” David nodded solemnly. “Well, now I’m glad you slugged him.”

“I shouldn’ ‘ave. Now everyone’s gonna—”

“Then tell ‘em about what he—”

“It’ll just make things worse!” Way, _way_ worse.

“So _what?_ ” the tag artist practically spat. “You guys’re probably just gonna end up at each other’s throats again no matter what happens.”

David’s thoughts briefly drifted to Quentin, the patient and forgiving nature the lad displayed even towards someone who was not a friend. “Guess I’m followin’ a certain someone’s good example.”

“Hmm,” Nea hummed while cocking a thoughtful eyebrow, “and by a certain _someone_ you mean sleepy cutie.”

“‘Sleepy cutie?’” Seriously, where did the tag artist come up with all these strange nicknames for everyone?

“What? He’s cute,” she asserted and then added, “and could really use some proper sleep.”

“Umm, okay. Does he know ya like ‘im?”

Nea belted out a few shrill giggles before she replied, “Relax stud. I just like teasing him, that’s all. I’m not gonna steal your man away.”

“My wha’?!” David outrageously exclaimed as he hastily ripped his hands out of the generator, and then said hands then proceeded to wave side-to-side in the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! There’s no me and ‘im.”

“Really? I thought I was seeing signs back at the fire.”

“S-Seeing s—” he sputtered out and then quickly shifted gears. “We’ve been fightin’ ever since he got ‘ere.”

“So? There’s a fine line between love and hate.”

David made a face and retaliated with, “By that definition I’d be gunnin’ for Park.”

“Well…” Nea petered off weakly, likely unable to come up with something decent to defend the claim. “Okay, so maybe it’s a bit off but still.” There was a pregnant pause as the two resumed their respective repair work. “So do—”

“Nice ‘air,” David blurted out in an attempt to both change the subject and will away the heat that had accumulated in his cheeks.

“Ugh, are you kidding me? The colour’s already fading,” she said with a pout whilst her fingers twirled a few strands. “Where’d you find that spray anyways?”

“In the woods.”

“Thanks Captain obvious. I _never_ would’ve guessed.”

Ever the smartass. “Deeper in, much deeper. Can’ really get more specific ‘an ‘at, and I wasn’ exactly markin’ a trail.”

“Good to know, tha—” Nea abruptly shrieked as The Hag yanked her off of the generator. He did not even hear the killer approach them. David cursed and tried to body block the pint-sized woman from taking Nea into the basement. Sadly all he received was a deep slash to the stomach for his efforts while The Hag easily maneuvered around him. “Get the gen!” the tag artist shouted as she disappeared down the stairwell.

The generator, right. Their hard work had to be worth something, and the thing was near completion too. Come on now, one more bloody wire. David started sweating when he heard Nea’s bloodcurdling scream from below and willed himself to hurry the fuck up. Acting out of sheer desperation, he grabbed two wires, touched them together and hoped for a miracle. A loud ping and a following bright light signalled that his prayers were answered and not a moment too soon.

The Hag ascended the stairs and went for a swing, but David managed to smack her over the head with a pallet before the blow could connect. Talk about a close call. Rounding the shack, he moved between various crates and other junk scattered throughout the area. His objective was to lose the killer amongst the random clutter and loop back around to rescue Nea. An odd sound caught his attention too late and then David found himself falling harshly on his stomach. How did? Shite, fucking idiot! He had unknowingly stepped onto one of her traps which was unlikely to have been seen beforehand as the dirt and grass made the perfect camouflage to conceal its presence.

Despising the feeling of weightlessness, David struggled viciously in the killer’s grasp. It always amazed him how the smaller killers could lift him up and cart him around so easily. In lieu of dragging him into the basement, The Hag threw him on a hook overlooking the debris-littered field. A strange decision indeed but perhaps she did not wish to waste any more time on him given that three generators had already been finished.

Opting not to risk unhooking himself, David simply hung there whilst the occasional grunt passed through his pursed lips. He was a little curious if anyone would come to his aid. If Nea was not already dangling from a hook, she would probably be the one saving his blind arse. He knew Jake was not going to get him, or assumed so, but David had been proven wrong before in that regard.

To this moment, he remained baffled as to why Quentin chose to rescue him during their trial together against The Shape. He was grateful afterwards, but it was entirely unexpected given their prior interactions. However, the two males were not remotely the same person. Jake was a reclusive survivalist, adapting to whichever environment he was subjected to, whereas Quentin was an overly selfless lamb, accepting suffering and death willingly all for the sake of others. Both possessed admirable qualities but David would always respect selflessness over survival. What was the point in surviving if you survived alone?

While not everything worked quite as planned, his period of forced isolation taught him one important thing: being alone was awful. He just could not fathom why the saboteur opted to experience such a mistrustful and lonely existence. Was it really so difficult for Jake to let others in? Granted the survivalist did speak with most of the individuals here and joined in on the rare game, yet his words were limited and his participation never seemed genuine—or at least not to David. Maybe the man preferred his feathered friends over the human ones, or perhaps Jake was secretly awkward in a social sense. He would surely be left guessing until the end of time though his brain was more than happy to supply him with possibilities.

A muffled stomping noise drew David’s gaze upward to witness Ace running across the field, the gambler offering him a sideways glance in brief acknowledgement before heading into the wooden shack. Admittedly he was a little miffed at being ignored but he knew that Nea needed to be freed first as she was probably fighting off the Entity’s claws by now. Another hook and that would be that.

Speaking of the Entity, thick veiny tendrils shot forth towards his prone form to which he swiftly blocked. He was not about to perish so soon even if his fate appeared to be set in stone. Through his grunts of exertion, he heard Ace shout and then watched as the gambler dashed out of the shack with The Hag hot on his heels. Nea, on the other hand, was determinedly hobbling towards him and then yanking his arse free from the metal contraption.

“Having fun yet?” she questioned through clenched teeth, her breathing sounding quite ragged in his ears.

He gave a short chuckle at her humorous question and replied with an equally sarcastic, “Not really.”

They each took turns tending to each other’s wounds, their fingers moving briskly to finish the task. When the healing process was finally over, a cry echoed out from afar; it must be Ace. David debated on seeking out the scream but hesitated to do so, the urge to ignore his basic protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Why was it so hard to fight his conscience?

“Well, go on,” Nea piped up, her palm gesturing in the general area where the scream resounded. “Go get him. I’ll handle the last few gens.” Would Ace even accept his help, especially after his heated spat with Jake? His prolonged silence and inaction prompted the tag artist to utter, “I thought you were gonna earn that trust back?”

“Ya, but…”

“David!” Nea snapped in a sharp tone, her patience for his stalling evidently gone. “ _Go!_ Don’t be a coward.” She snatched her toolkit, or what supplies were left from it, and ventured elsewhere without a parting glance.

Coward? The word tasted so repulsively bitter in his mouth, his tongue practically drying out from the horrible flavour. David gritted his teeth as his breaths flared through his nostrils and then inaudibly hissed out an angry, “I’m no bloody coward.” If Quentin had the guts to save him, then he was surely capable of saving the gambler. He had his pride to defend too after all.

He speedily crossed the field and began searching for the origin site of the scream, no moans of pain or footsteps being heard thus far in his travels. In fact there were barely any noises save for the cawing of the crows he disturbed. Three more steps in and something wet squelched underneath his foot. Peering down, David noted a few patches of blood, nearly concealed by the environment, and he promptly pursued the crimson trail straight to a vacant hook, the fresh liquid dripping off of the steel signifying that a body once hung from it. So either Ace unhooked himself or Jake rescued him, and a big waste of energy on his part.

While shaking his head, his orbs caught sight of the gaudy yellow colour of an obviously-out-of-place chest essentially sitting right in front of the hook. The box remained closed, which was peculiar, though perhaps no one possessed the luxury of time to search its contents. Fortunately, so long as the quiet ensued, he did. It took but a minute to rummage through the chest until his scrounging turned up a key. A skeleton key no less; this was indeed a rare treasure. Normally it is a basic medical kit or a dented toolbox, but not this.

Suddenly a feminine screech rang out in the distance, the earsplitting noise causing him to panic. Not Nea! Not hesitating for a second time, David sprinted back to the tag artist’s last known location. He scoured every little area—behind rocks and trees, in the small maze of brick—only to find nothing suspicious. Perhaps she had been saved or managed to pick herself back up.

Circling around a bulbous rock, he immediately tripped over something squishy yet solid. Recovering from his fall, and after getting a good look at the solid object, he found that the source of his tumble was because of Nea—or, rather, her corpse. She was clearly deceased with her throat torn and her innards gouged out, and not to mention all the blood everywhere.

“Fuck!” he shouted in despair, his labored breathing doing nothing to mask the regret he felt.

He froze when another pained scream, from Ace, invaded his ears. The Hag was probably going to kill the gambler before he even reached his fallen teammate. However, there was the possibility of the killer leaving Ace to seek out other prey, and it was that chance which spurred David into action.

Mid-sprint, a second shout resounded close by, his one belonging to none other than Jake Park.

His feet skidded to a halt as he merely stared ahead in contemplation. He was hesitating again, his mind flooding with more doubt and indecision than ever before. The seconds stretched on as David remained motionless, his legs denying him travel. Was he actually going to do this? Leave a helpless teammate for dead? Doing so might ease his emotional burden, or it might create a larger one altogether.

“Damn… goddammit,” David swore under his breath prior to forcibly breaking into a sprint once more.

He might be able to live with a guilty conscience, but why bother acquiring guilt in the first place? Abandoning Jake, or anyone else here really, would be the ultimate betrayal to his morality. And while his compass did not exactly point directly north, he was not about to allow it to dip all the way to the south either. David would make Jake regret his own words, he was absolutely certain of that, yet he would do so on his own terms. Actions spoke louder than words, and he was going to prove himself without violence factoring into the equation—whether the saboteur liked it or not.

After maneuvering through a series brick walls, David was met with the sight of a lifeless Ace sprawled on the ground and The Hag carrying Jake away. This was not good. He had to do something fast; he had to play decoy. Hopefully the killer actually took the bait, and that the chase did not end too quickly like the first one. Just do not step on any of her rubbish traps, his mind annoyingly reminded him.

“Oi!” he brazenly shouted whilst hurling a pebble at the woman. “Over ‘ere ya wrinkled cunt!”

His one comment, coupled with the rock, was all it took for The Hag to drop Jake and chase after him, her speed faster than before. Guess she was not one to enjoy untimely interruptions or she knew that David was a dead man once downed. Ducking into the storehouse, David began looping the killer around the many shelves, her speed noticeably increasing the longer he remained in a chase with her. He tried to maintain a decent distance between the killer and himself but she was cunning. The Hag anticipated his moves, placed strategic traps when he looped her one too many times on the same shelving unit. At this rate, he was not going to be able to hold her attention for much longer. During his distraction, his shoe came into contact with the metallic trapdoor of the hatch which was a helpful tidbit of information to store for future reference assuming he lived through this encounter.

An ill-timed pallet caused him to obtain a rather nasty slice on his shoulder. Bitch must have lunged for it, unlike her last attempt in the shabby shack. At least it gave him the space he yearned for, plenty in fact which allowed him to double back to retrieve Jake. He was not about to abandon the other male even if he strongly believed the saboteur deserved it.

Some crows were cawing and flying around outside the building so he had to be cautious as the killer was likely still within range. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Jake abruptly appeared in front of him. Despite being injured, the man was as quiet as ever. Was everyone just naturally stealthy or was he the only loud one of the group?

“Where the ‘ell’d y’come from?” David hissed out breathlessly.

Jake did not bother to dignify him with an answer and merely stared at him with an unusual expression. What was this guy’s problem? A shuffling noise had him whipping his head around in alarm to reveal an unhappy killer racing towards them.

Turning on heel, David staggered behind Jake to another unused pallet and threw it down only to be hit through it. As The Hag savoured the taste of his blood dripping off her bony fingertips, he groaned in frustration. This was it; he was going to die here but at least he gave the killer one heck of a rough time. Said killer, however, was not breaking the pallet and instead looping around the brick structures. What was she doing? Was she trying to confuse them? His eyes widened when he suddenly remembered the key he found which meant that Jake could still get out. Acting rapidly, he reached into his jacket pocket for the skeleton key and thrusted the item towards the saboteur towering above him.

“Take it! The ‘atch’s in the storehouse,” he half shouted at the stunned male whilst holding out the key with a shaky arm. The saboteur had yet to move, his narrowly composed obsidian eyes darting wildly between David and the enclosing walls. “Fuckin’ take _it!_ ”

Seeing The Hag rounding the far corner, Jake snatched the key from his hand and vaulted out a nearby window. A mere second later, the killer hopped through the same opening and immediately followed her prey. David sagged contentedly into the coarse dirt, his battered body too sore and exhausted to continue.

An indeterminable amount of time passed and he felt himself slowly slipping away as blood continued to ooze out around him. Bleeding out was supposedly one of the more gentle ways to die, but David always despised the numbing chill it brought though the sensation paled in comparison to the chill brought on from being sacrificed. Just as his eyelids drifted shut, something grasped his arm in a constricting vice.

“Get up,” a voice impatiently implored to which David hummed at in confusion, his blurry vision taking note of a figure crouching above him. The fuzzy shape moved closer such that a blood-stained face came into clear view as its owner screamed, “ _Get up!_ ”

It was Jake; the saboteur had come back for him. David experienced a millisecond worth of a million different emotions crossing his mind before being violently yanked upright. His uninjured arm was forcibly pulled over the survivalist’s shoulder and then they were off with Jake steering him in the direction of the storehouse. The Hag was nowhere to be seen but, if his ears were not misleading him, crows were cawing close by—whether they were startled by the killer or by them was unknown.

“For the record,” Jake spoke evenly whilst they presumably hooved it to the hatch, “this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” David replied automatically yet a lazy smile graced his lips which he then directed at the saboteur once the trapdoor came into view. “So I’ll just keep tryin’ ta convince ya.”

They locked eyes then, hazy hazel-green meeting obsidian in an epic clash of meaningful stares. Jake still wore that unusual expression from earlier and, if David had to make an educated guess, he would argue the expression resembled something akin to uncertainty. It was not a hostile look which was an improvement regardless.

Eventually the saboteur half-heartedly scoffed before leaning down to slide the skeleton key into the lock. The key then quickly vanished as the trapdoor swung open, the exit revealing a small space shrouded in inky black fog. Jake lingered for an extended minute to cast a sideways gaze at him, his gaze not as icy as before. David went to speak, demand an explanation, only to witness the other male wordlessly jumping into the opening.

Well that was not awkward at all. While he was incredibly disappointed with the overall outcome of the trial, it appeared as though some good came out of it and he was determined to further his progress here in the future. Until then, he was craving the warmth of the fire and some blessed rest—assuming the others allowed him to stay at the campground, of course. God what if they decided to banish him back into the woods again?

“C’mon now,” he muttered reassuringly to himself, “keep yer bloody chin up mate.” Just stay positive, he internally reinforced the message, just stay positive.

Spotting The Hag a short length away, David smirked at the wrinkly killer and rudely flipped her off as he jumped into the freedom of the square void in the floor. As the thick mist engulfed him, he relished in how utterly satisfying it was to rob a killer of their precious kills.


	10. Persist And Protect

Quentin had lingered in the outlying woods awhile before he returned to the campground. He needed to stay away long enough to make his shameful lie to Laurie seem convincing. Although the lie almost turned truth when he caught himself dozing off more than once, but he supposed simply staring into a blank sky was not the best way to avoid sleeping. Swimming was probably a safer option but, as depressing as it was, he was unable to find the courage to enter the water. Too many bad experiences now.

His favourite activity, the one thing he took pride and pleasure in, was slowing becoming one of his greatest fears—courtesy of his personal demon.

Quentin felt his face souring at the mere thought of Freddy and his penchant for abusive play. Thus far, he had been successful in fighting off the urge to sleep since his previously disturbing encounter with the man. However his micro-naps still granted Freddy the ability to occasionally harass him. A slash here and there defined the majority of his micro-naps but sometimes the sicko did other disgusting things.

During one particular trial, Quentin remembered an instance where he was attempting to evade The Huntress during a chase. He somehow managed to break her line of sight and ducked behind a brick wall for additional cover. Mere seconds later, he had heard a telltale laugh and then felt a solid slap against his ass. The surprised yelp he emitted afterwards immediately revealed his hiding place to the hatchet-wielding killer. Another time was when he had been out in the survivor forest culling medicinal herbs with Claudette. All was well, nothing out of the ordinary, until Freddy suddenly materialized in front of him and pressed his burned lips against Quentin’s own. He had no time to react, or retaliate, before the smug bastard vanished in the blink of an eye. His only relief was that Claudette had her back turned to him at the time.

There had been other close calls as well but he was fortunate enough to be able to play them off. It was only a matter of time though before someone caught on or he slipped up or, god forbid, Freddy gloated about it to his fellow survivors. The latter possibility had him grumpily sighing as he rubbed underneath his tired eyes.

“You alright son?” Bill questioned from where he laid on the ground, the smoke from his cigarette weaving along with the tiny breeze flowing through the campground.

Quentin plastered on a lazy smile for the elder and mumbled, “Yeah.”

The veteran raised a subtle eyebrow at him whilst wearing a slight frown. “Maybe you—”

“Hey guys!”

Quentin’s head perked up at the sound of Dwight’s voice, his comment addressing both Ace and Nea as they emerged from the treeline. They appeared unharmed if his quick inspection from afar was anything to go by, no ripped clothes or blood anyhow, which implied that the two of them had perished in their trial.

“You’re back pretty early,” Feng remarked, “so I’m guessing the trial didn’t go so well?”

Ace plopped down next to Laurie and removed his cap to scratch at his scalp. “That’s an understatement.”

“The Hag was out for blood,” Nea explained, frustration clearly evident in her voice, “and she had a million traps everywhere.”

“Really?” the gamer questioned curiously, “and here I thought it had something to do with the boys.”

“Nope,” the tag artist confirmed whilst exaggerating the word with a pop. “David was with me most of the trial.”

“And Jake was with me,” Ace added with a brief raise of his hand. “They didn’t see much of each other. Though now…”

An awkward quiet ensued, everyone sporting different facial expressions which reflected their inner thoughts. Quentin was feeling rather uneasy about the situation as well and just when he had finally fixed relations between him and David.

Bill tiredly sighed beside him and muttered a quiet, “Gettin’ too old for this shit.”

“I-I’m sure they’re fine,” Dwight tried to reassure, his nervous smile not terribly comforting, “but in the meantime we-we should figure out what to do about this.”

“What d’you mean?” Laurie perplexedly asked.

“Well, uh, I mean, David apologized and everything but—”

Nea uncrossed her arms and pointed a menacing finger at their leader, her powered blue orbs piercing into the male as she declared, “We’re  _not_  banishing him again Dwight.”

Dwight lifted his arms in front of him in a non-threatening gesture—likely to defuse her possible fury against him. “I-I wasn’t sayin—”

“Especially not after what Jake said to him,” she added in the form of a hiss.

“What did he say?” Quentin asked before promptly shrinking into himself when several sets of eyes glanced his way. He did not mean to voice his curiosity aloud but his mouth expressed his inner thoughts automatically. It was a little embarrassing though someone else was bound to ask the obvious question anyways.

“Well he—”

“Didn’ say anthin’ worth mentionin’,” David interjected as he entered the campground from behind Quentin and Bill.

“But—”

“Where’s Jake?” Dwight interrupted and consequently received an irritated glare from the tag artist. The leader was eyeing David nervously from across the fire as if wary of what the scrapper might do.

“Dunno,” David answered with a slight shake of his head. “We both escaped through the hatch but he wasn’ ‘round when I got ‘ere.”

“You both escaped from the hatch?” Feng questioned in a disbelieving tone which was emphasized by her hands being placed on her hips. “ _Together?_ ”

“Mhm. Found a key, found Jake, and ‘en took the ‘atch,” David responded with a shrug, the whole situation seemingly not bothering him in the slightest.

“And nothing else happened?” the gamer carried on to probe for information.

“I didn’ lamp ‘im if that’s wha’ yer askin’,” David grouched, his words coming out a touch harsher than before. The scrapper obviously did not appreciate the interrogation and Quentin felt the same on his behalf.

Feng, on the other hand, did not seem to have any conflicting emotions about questioning the brawny male. “And assuming you—”

“Am I welcome ‘ere?” David snappily blurted out.

“What?” the gamer responded in confusion.

“I’m askin’ if I’m welcome ‘ere,” the scrapper impatiently reiterated, “at-at the fire.”

“Well…” Dwight hesitated though no further words were vocalized.

“Obviously,” Nea said, the tag artist approaching David to give the scrapper an enthusiastic high-five.

Bill grasped his cigarette between two fingers, tapped the ashen end against the ground and then muttered, “I see no problem with you being here.”

At least some people were being reasonable. When everyone else remained silent, Quentin took it upon himself to voice his opinion.

“I think he should be allowed to stay here,” he sternly commented whilst eyeing the doubtful individuals, “since we already agreed to give him a second chance.”

“Yeah, one chance.  _One_ ,” the gamer emphasized with a finger, “but then he hit Jake—”

“He was provoked!” Nea shouted one the scrapper’s defence.

“G-guys,” Dwight stepped in between the commotion, “let’s not d—”

“This is such bullshit,” Feng declared, her posture looking ready to string into action and attack. “He clearly—”

“‘He,’” David shouted over everyone else while gesturing to himself, “is right ‘ere and can be directly spoken to. And I shouldn’ ‘ave reacted the way I did.”

“So Jake  _did_  provoke you?” the gamer asked. Was this turning into a game of twenty questions? If so, Quentin was not going to tolerate it; this was getting ridiculous.

David released a heated sigh and then uttered, “I dunno if ‘at was ‘is intention, but ya.”

The gamer shook her head and muttered something in Chinese under her breath before reverting back to English. “You swore there’d be no more bullshit,” she spoke slowly, “and I’m just  _so_  sick of this. So just... just fucking fix it okay?”

“I already am,” David assured with confidence. “Does ‘at mean I can stay?”

“Yeah,” the gamer exhaustedly replied after a minute, “you can stay.”

“Since you’re already here,” Ace chimed in, “you might as well get comfy. Can’t imagine hanging around in the forest’s very pleasant.”

Laurie appeared equally worried and cautious, and Quentin would have been anxious if not for his prior chat with the young woman. He knew she was not going to escalate the dispute any further.

As anticipated, Laurie offered an affirmative nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing her face as she mumbled, “You can stay.”

“Since everyone else’s okay with you being here, then so am I,” Dwight said, his previous nervousness melting away when he spoke.

David released a breath and smiled gratefully at everyone before saying, “Thank you.”

The scrapper then parked himself on the other side of Quentin.

“You’re hurt,” he quietly exclaimed upon glancing at the burly male.

David hummed in confusion and then carelessly lifted his injured shoulder to inspect it. “Oh, right, kinda forgot ‘bout ‘at.”

“How do you—never mind. Just take those off,” Quentin practically commanded whilst gesturing to the scrapper’s sullied clothes. He reached behind the log nearby to grab the medical kit he stashed there and placed it in his lap.

Claudette had encouraged him to keep one at the fire, and fully stocked, at all times for emergency purposes. He was glad he had listened to her.

David looked as though he was going to protest but, instead, he merely sighed and said, “Since yer offerin’.”

The scrapper hissed as he shrugged out of his signature jacket and undershirt, the pain from his injuries likely hindering his movement. Once completed, Quentin went to examine his wounds only for his eyes to drift down to the man’s bulky chest. Good grief. Exactly how  _big_  was this guy? He could only imagine the amount of time, the years worth of physical conditioning it took to acquire such definition.

“It’s not ‘at bad is it?” David worriedly asked, the noise snapping Quentin out of his reverie. He fired a glare at Bill when the elder let out a chuckle, the elder apparently witnessing his blatant staring. In lieu of providing any commentary, the veteran simply smiled and closed his eyes. Was Bill really going to fall asleep with a cigarette hanging from his lips or was the veteran pretending to sleep?

“Well?” David spoke up again in the absence of being given an answered.

“Oh, umm, n-no, it’s not. N-Not bad at all.” Quentin gulped and hid his face, which assuredly was as red as a tomato, from view as he walked around behind the scrapper.

The gashes on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, and some salve and a simple binding would probably suffice for it. Although, the wounds dealt to his back were still oozing blood, the cuts deeper and more jagged in nature. In fact, they required stitching from the looks of it. The Hag really did a number on the poor guy.

“Your shoulder’s not too bad, but I need to stitch the cuts on your back.”

“I thought ya said it wasn’ ‘at bad?” Quentin picked up on the humour in his voice and, releasing a small laugh, he replied with, “I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

He immediately panicked at what he said, fearing that David would take his comment the wrong way.

Instead the man released a hearty, boisterous chuckle and offered his agreement with, “You’d be right ‘bout ‘at.”

Quentin puffed out a calming breath of relief, disregarded his initial worries and began to get to work. He planned to focus on the most urgent injuries first. Furthermore, he gathered the necessary items he required for such a task from his kit: a sewing needle, a clean cloth, a pair of scissors, some thread, some gauze, and a jar of salve. Next, he cleaned each individual wound as best he could and, once satisfied, then proceeded to carefully sew up the torn flesh on the other’s back. The pull of the needle had David wincing once or twice to which he muttered an apology for. After cutting away the excess thread, he applied very sparse amounts of salve to the edges and then wrapped bandages all around the torso to finish.

The same treatment, minus the stitching, was applied to David’s shoulder as well which, thanking, was mending without causing the scrapper any undue pain.

“Thanks mate,” David gratefully expressed as Quentin finished tying the excess gauze into a neat knot.

“You’re welcome.”

He felt quite proud of his handiwork though he was certain Claudette would have made the process painless.

Suddenly, from the shadows in the forest, the fog rolled in from the treeline and surrounded both Quentin and Laurie.

“Already?” Nea whined in disapproval, her nose wrinkling at the mere sight of the fog.

“Hmm, perhaps the Entity wasn’t thrilled ‘bout our last trial?” Ace suggested, his tone lacking its usual charm.

Quentin zoned out of their conversation when a hand landed on his shoulder, the contact causing him to instantly flinch. He gradually rotated to the side, fearing that he had fallen asleep again, the only person in view was David. Thank goodness.

“Y’got this Quen,” the scrapper encouraged with an uplifting grin.

“Yeah,” Quentin confidently concurred whilst flashing David a grin of his own. “Thanks. Try not to ruin my hard work while I’m gone.”

“No promises mate,” David cheekily voiced, his playful smirk the last thing Quentin saw before being carried away in the fog.

\--------------------

This particular trial found him in Haddonfield alongside Meg, Laurie, and Claudette. Quentin, much to his chagrin, knew immediately that Freddy was the killer when he started in the dreamworld—or whatever kind of dreamworld this was now. Naturally he put his best foot forward, as he always did when dealing with the dream demon. Yet, despite his best efforts, the sickening twist in his gut refused to leave. Quentin was doing everything possible to aid his friends: he had healed his teammates with what medical supplies he could scavenge; saved the girls when they were hooked; baited Freddy to no end; and boldly dared the killer to try and catch him. However, unlike in the past, the dream demon was attacking and hooking everyone except for him. Freddy was evidently ignoring him, or perhaps saving him for last, which forced him to helpless witness the slow demise of his friends. It was strange given that the dream demon never hesitated before, always taking pleasure out of making his life hell. Although, watching his friends suffer left him wallowing in misery—regardless of whether or not he was targeted—which likely counted as a win for the sick fuck.

Throughout the carnage, four generators were completed at the cost of losing Meg and Claudette, and with Laurie not far off. This fact brought tears to Quentin’s eyes for he was convinced that he had failed them. He had failed to protect his friends from Freddy, their injury and death on his hands, and it seemed that no one was going to survive this time.

A shriek caused him to break away from his depressing thoughts, the distressing noise restoring his dwindling resolve. While he regrettably was unable to save the others, there was still a chance to save Laurie. He had to do that much at least; she  _must_  survive through this and he was going to guarantee that.

Quentin pressed forward, his legs carrying him past the odd tree and picket fences. Please do not be too late, he pleaded within his mind for one more hook meant her doom.

Feet scraping along the pavement of the main road, Quentin gasped as Laurie lay next to the police car with Freddy standing above her, his blades flexing eagerly to match his maniacal smile as the killer watched his prey crawl.

Fuck, what was he supposed to do? He could try taunting the man, force the dream demon’s attention elsewhere, though his previous attempts had proved useless. No, it was surely a wasted effort. Maybe there was something of use around here. A pallet? No, not here. Several were already destroyed whilst the others were too far out of the way. Besides, Freddy was not foolish enough to walk through one with him nearby. Perhaps an item of some kind, but there were no chests left unsearched for he had looted most of them for medical kits. There had to be something else; anything else! His cesious eyes frantically scanned the neighborhood until they landed on a lit pumpkin, the harmless squash giving him an idea.

A few whimpers had Quentin’s orbs shifting back, and he quickly panicked when Laurie was hoisted onto the dream demon’s shoulder. There was no time to procrastinate. He could not allow the young woman to be sacrificed; it was now or never!

He raced across the front yard and snagged the pumpkin off of the railing. Cradling the delicate squash in his arms, he sprinted over to the pair and, with a sort of war cry, he savagely smashed the pumpkin over Freddy’s head. The squash broke apart into numerous squishy chunks, its slimy entrails effectively coating the dream demon and ruining his ratty fedora. Quentin had to admit that his slam dunk felt pretty good right now.

“RUN!” he shouted at the now freed woman when she lingered. Laurie hesitated, likely worried about leaving him alone with the killer; however, she eventually flashed him a determined smile and staggered away to safety.

Alternatively, Freddy remained stock-still, the man’s continued silence and rigid posture instilling an ounce of fear within Quentin’s belly. Then, in a blinding flash, the killer whirled around to face him where he witnessed the greatest, most positively feral look highlighted by dark, dangerous eyes.

With a snarl of pure rage, the dream demon moved with lightning speed and slashed. Those sharp claws swiped through the air as Quentin managed to duck at the last second, and he swiftly turned on heel and ran with abandon. He had his killer’s attention; now he had to keep it.

Freddy was particularly vicious during their chase and stormed about with a fierceness Quentin had never encountered before. Who knew one small pumpkin could cause such a reaction? He tried looping the killer around the insides of the decrepit houses, but Freddy somehow seemed to anticipate his moves. Did anger make killers better at tracking or was the dream demon just getting lucky?

Quentin narrowly managed to drop a pallet over the bastard’s head only for a savage swipe to connect anyways. Desiring to gain some much needed distance between them, he fled in haste without looking back. Entering into one of the many backyards, Freddy abruptly blocked his pathing and delivered a vengeful slice to his torso. He fell sideways and landed unkindly on his front, the filth from the ground further aggravating his newly acquired wounds.

Damn him! The dream demon had looped around the pallet instead of breaking it. Quentin was furious with himself for he should have hung around longer and waited for the killer to destroy the wooden slab. He just hoped that Laurie did not hear his screams or tried to find him. There had been too much death already this trial for his liking.

“Little shit,” Freddy sneered from above Quentin’s prone form and then kicked him in the side. He noted that the killer’s prior bloodlust had dissipated some which, since he had been incapacitated, no longer matter regardless. “If you wanted to play so badly, all you had to do was ask Quen,” the dream demon uttered with a wicked smirk whilst wiping off bits of squash from his hat. “But I guess you weren’t in the mood for a  _friendly_  game of tag.”

Quentin rolled his eyes in annoyance because of course Freddy chose to taunt him while he was down. He aimed to pick himself up, try and buy Laurie a little more time, but a heavy foot on his back thwarted his attempt.

“I certainly had fun though. Just like old times, right Quen? Don’t you—”

“Shut up,” he impatiently growled whilst cranking his neck around to shoot a spiteful glare at the monster towering over him. Even if he died here, this was not over. It would  _never_  end and he loathed Freddy for that fact.

A couple of crows cawed in the distance, their squawking instilling Quentin with panic when their noises gradually became closer. That must be Laurie and, from the sounds of those birds, she was heading over this way. Freddy too appeared to have heard the commotion, miscoloured gaze briefly glancing upward before refocusing back on him.

“How ‘bout we play a different game?”

“Wha—”

Quentin hissed in pain as he was abruptly grabbed and, the next thing he knew, was being pulled into a locker with the dream demon. His back was held tightly against Freddy’s sweater-clad chest with his arms pinned to either side of his body.

“Fuck, lemme go!” Quentin protested, his body fruitlessly wiggling around like a fish out of water. He tried using the locker doors as leverage, kicking at them when he could not break free. “ _Let go of me!_ ”

“Naughty boy,” Freddy tutted, his tone sickly sweet and awfully disgusting to hear. “You haven’t even let me explain the rules.”

“Go to hell!” he spat before immediately screaming in agony as knifes plunged into his right thigh. His vision tunnelled for a short moment as the loss of more precious blood made him feel woozy and unfocused.

“All you have to do is keep quiet,” the killer patiently explained, “Do that, and I’ll let the girl live. You can do that, can’t you Quen?”

When he stubbornly failed to answer, the killer pressed his blades deeper into Quentin’s thigh. Blood quickly spurted out, the warm liquid staining their already filthy clothes and the inner walls of the locker. “ _Can’t you?!_ ”

“Yes,” Quentin whimpered out the reply, the pitiful word echoing lowly within the confined space. Freddy then removed his claws, his sturdy grip unfortunately persisting. It was not as if he would be running away anytime soon. Besides, the reality of the situation was absolute: Quentin knew he was dead the second he went down. The only question was why Freddy was postponing the inevitable. Another game, his brain helpfully reminded, and he mutely snarled at the prospect.

A minuscule amount of light was projected through the slits on the locker doors and, through those tiny openings, Quentin observed as Laurie limped into view. Asleep and injured, he knew the babysitter was on her last legs. He probably should have saved one of those prior medical kits for a time like this.

She appeared to be surveying her surroundings, looking for him or perhaps looking for another generator. Laurie hovered in the yard for a minute longer and then moved closer to the locker he and Freddy were currently occupying. His heart beat frantically in his chest as the wooden planks creaked beside his rectangular prison but, thankfully, her footsteps eventually receded. A minute passed and he began to register the distinct, though muffled, noises of pistons and gears grinding together. There must be a generator inside; this was not good. Freddy could easily kill him here and then move on to Laurie, and she would be oblivious to his presence. Even if she woke herself up, the killer would just put her back to sleep when he was ready to end her life. God, why did this have to happen?

“Now then,” Freddy whispered lowly, the man’s voice diverting Quentin’s attention back to his captor, “let’s play.”

The dream demon proceeded to shred his graphic T-shirt, the bits of fabric flying all over the enclosed space to eventually settle at their feet. Quentin shut his eyes and willed himself not to scream in frustration. He knew not what Freddy had planned for him but, he had a rough idea of what to expect.

While the other survivors knew bits and pieces of his life before being brought here, they did not know all the  _gritty_  details, especially the ones surrounding his disturbing childhood—which he fully intended to keep a secret. Quentin was not ready to share something so personal when he could not even accept those horrible truths for himself.

The sensation of rubbery fingers brushing along his exposed chest had him shivering in aversion. Goosebumps emerged on the surface of his flesh as those vile digits explored his torso. Quentin felt like a human canvas with how his blood was smeared all over, in obscure patterns, to form an artistic masterpiece. Every little dip and curve on his chest was explored though Freddy seemed primarily fixated with mockingly fingering his scars.

A surprised gasp passed his lips when the sicko lightly pinched one of his nipples, the killer rolling it delicately between his fingers. The touch made him mostly nauseous yet slivers of pleasure somehow wormed their way into the pit of his stomach, but Quentin refused to acknowledge the pleasant feeling. He utterly _refused_ to give Freddy any satisfaction for this. A small yelp was ripped from his throat when those fingers suddenly began gouging at the laceration wounds above his navel.

Quentin attempted to muffle his pained noises with a fist, but the dream demon showed no signs of loosening his vice hold on him. Fresh blood sluggishly leaked out from under the killer’s fingertips as he dug his nails deeper into the third lowest slash.

Quentin pursed his lips as tears prickled at his eyes, his desire to endure this torment lessening. He never understood why he deserved such torture again and again, or why Freddy would not die. Maybe it was because he failed to kill the bastard sooner. Maybe it was because he failed to protect Nancy when it mattered most. Maybe it was because, when it really mattered, he could not protect anyone. Whatever the case may be, he was not about to fail here. Not like before. This was a paltry price to pay if it meant Laurie would be spared an agonizing death. Even so, Quentin began to tremble from fear and anxiety, his body weakening from the blood loss and stress of it all.

He felt Freddy chortle softly against his neck, the feather-light sensation of breath fanning across his skin making him inwardly cringe. The hand on his stomach then descended lower until it rested on top of his clothed groin.

“N-Not that,” Quentin mumbled pitifully, his struggles minutely renewing.

He knew begging would do him little good, but the feeling of Freddy’s touch had him wanting to upchuck. It brought back too many terrible memories of a childhood he desperately wished to permanently repress but never could. No matter how hard he tried, those moments _always_ found a way back to the forefront of his mind. Plus it did not help that the dream demon forced him into reliving some of those memories too. It was just so unfair.

“You’re not very good at this game,” Freddy whispered into the flesh of his jugular whilst his clawless hand began to massage the appendage between Quentin’s legs. He mildly whimpered and clenched his thighs together in an attempt to dislodge the hand there, but the man simply squeezed harder. The added pressure forced tiny sobs from his trembly lips and he quickly relaxed his thighs once more. “Or is it that you want her to hear? Maybe we can put on a little show fo—”

“Leave her _alone_ ,” Quentin hissed in quiet anger. He did not desire an audience, especially if he was made to watch said audience die before his eyes while being molested. The killer let out a series of soft laughs beside his ear, that rancid breath again tickling him in the worst way. With the last reserves of his strength, Quentin steeled himself for whatever hell Freddy had in store for him. He was going to get through this. “I’ll be quiet.”

A kiss was pressed to his neck as Freddy purred out an approving, “Good boy.”

Deft, burned fingers unfastened his belt buckle and popped open the button on his jeans. The zipper was pulled down next, the metal teeth clicking painfully slow which added to his rising anxiety. It grew harder and harder to breathe inside the locker. The smell wafting off of their clothes, specifically the bits of pumpkin guts still clinging to the bastard’s hideous sweater, was not helping matters either. Despite this, Quentin maintained his composure as best as he could.

He stiffened when Freddy’s left hand dig into his thigh wound, the palm gathering some blood before it moved to find its way underneath his boxers. The first touch to his most sensitive organ had him emitting a frightened squeak. The dream demon’s caress was almost lethargic in nature yet his movements carried with it a slight pleasurable undertone thanks to the blood acting as lubricant.

“D’you remember this Quentin?” Freddy asked while he continued with his ministrations. “You used to love our one-on-one times together. Always begging for that little extra attention. Though Nancy always s—”

He snarled at the mention of Nancy and hissed out a threatening, “ _Shut the fuck up_.”

Quentin remembered, he remembered all too well. With no mother and an abusive father, affection was difficult to come by. One particular morning came to mind: his father had scolded him over his lack of backbone whilst driving him to preschool. Alan Smith told his son that boys need to be strong and stand up for themselves. Strong boys did _not_ cry over every little thing. But he did cry, and it was Mr. Krueger who found him that same morning crying over one of his flower beds. Mr. Krueger had sat holding Quentin in his arms shortly afterwards, the gardener offering him all the comfort he could ever ask for.

In an attempt to distract him from his sadness, Mr. Krueger had decided to share his intimate knowledge of gardening with him. It was there that Quentin developed his appreciation for knowledge. As a gift for being such a good listener, Mr. Krueger had bestowed onto him a book about different varieties of domestic plants, and Quentin could not have been happier with his little treasure. The gardener read it to him, several times, and so many other books as well. The interesting facts and the stories were all so fascinating to hear about. He could never get enough, but then that all changed.

Quentin shook his head weakly to get rid of the now depressing memory. Not wishing to think of memories which involved Freddy, he tried letting his mind wander to better, more recent memories: Claudette happily teaching him the basics of emergency first aid; Laurie sharing in his suffering of seemingly unstoppable monsters obsessing over them; Ace showing him how to play blackjack and Feng scolding him for losing only to lose herself; Meg humming her mother’s lullaby when she believed no one was around; Nea sticking her tongue of while carving her tags on tree trunks with a screwdriver; and so many others.

“Still so mouthy,” Freddy chided though he hardly sounded displeased. In fact, the bastard sounded as though he was thoroughly enjoying this—definitely a lot more than he was. “I’ll have to fix that.”

Quentin was abruptly pulled from his musings when he felt his jeans and boxers being pushed down to his upper thighs. Without the constricting fabric in the way, the pace quickened and the killer’s strokes became firmer. Heat began pooling in his stomach, a sensation he desperately attempted to quell but to no avail. A bead of pre-cum appeared at the tip of his dick which was mixed alongside the blood, the increase in slickness taking his pleasure to greater heights. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as his cock inflated while soft whines squeaked past his grit teeth, needy and full of humiliation. He did _not_ want this but his traitorous body knew nothing of his plight.

Quentin could almost feel Freddy’s delighted smile when he uttered, “That’s better. Such beautiful noises.”

A scratchy tongue licked at the lobe of his ear which made him cringe, and said cringe intensified exponentially when a solid bulge nudged against his bare ass. No! Quentin silently prayed that he would be spared from rape even though the odds were not in his favour.

“It’s nice to know I haven’t lost my touch,” the dream demon smugly commented as his thumb fingered the moist slit of Quentin’s sensitive head.

“F-Fuck you,” he seethed while on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Hmm,” Freddy hummed at the statement, “not a lot of room in here for that. Maybe another time.”

“Sick, ah, fucking... just stop,” the teen barely whined out, his consciousness noticeably fading in and out.

Sleep deprivation paled in comparison to the exhaustion Quentin was experiencing now, and he wondered how much more of this he could handle. He hated this place, this repetitive hell of being hurt and killed. He _despised_ being trapped here with his literal nightmare. The one blessed relief of this world was that Nancy was safe and no longer had to deal with Freddy plaguing her dreams and terrorizing her to death. For this, the chance to see her once again, Quentin persisted. For everyone with him in this hellscape, he persisted. But even he has his limits, and Freddy was a master at damaging them beyond repair.

“Aren’t you having fun? You seem to like this.”

Quentin managed to chuckle and then utter, “It’d be more fun watching you die.” He immediately choked back a sob when the fist around his dick tightened.

“Now Quen,” Freddy spoke in a scolding tone, “you know I can’t die.”

“I’ll find a way,” he determinedly muttered around quick breaths, voice surprisingly free of fatigue. “I don’t care how, but I will. I swear to God I _will!_ ”

Heavy cackles followed and reverberated throughout the now overly heated locker as Freddy’s hand resumed fondling his erect flesh into complete hardness.

The dream demon then pressed his smirking lips directly beside Quentin’s ear and whispered, “God can’t save you here Quentin.”

Quentin hiccupped wetly in despair, trying to drown out the killer only for his mind to repeatedly echo the bastard’s words.

“It’s just you and me,” Freddy resumed with a bitter quietness yet his off tone gave Quentin pause. Mindful of the blades resting on his throat, he cranked his head to side to eye the killer. Through the meagre light, he observed as his worst nightmare stared straight ahead with a distant expression plastered on his face. Maybe he was just as frustrated of being in the Entity’s realm as Quentin was. Or was it something else? It was a mystery, and a curious one at that.

Suddenly Freddy bit harshly into his neck, his teeth breaking skin and finally driving Quentin over the edge. He cried out as spurts of his seed coated the double doors in front of him, the world going white in the midst of his orgasm. Through it all, the dream demon continued to tenderly stroke his cock until the organ returned to a flaccid state. Quentin panted lowly, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion as his vision clouded and his legs felt boneless. The grotesque sound of Freddy licking his fingers clean of his essence brought on a fresh wave of nausea.

“So sweet,” the dream demon remarked. “Just like before.”

He then found himself abruptly forced out of the locker where he tumbled face first onto the back porch. Excruciating pain radiated all over his body from the impact though he had not the strength to fix it. Freddy crouched down beside his head with a twisted smile adorning his face, the look drawing a tired glare from Quentin.

The killer used his blades to gently brush his sweaty bangs back as he uttered, “I enjoyed our little game Quentin. It’s a shame you lost, but there’s always next time.”

“Bastard,” Quentin croaked out, too dizzy and fatigued to say anything more substantial. He ignored the affectionate pat to his head and simply eyed the chuckling killer until the man retreated into the house. Why would Freddy leave him? Oh no; he was going after Laurie!

“Freddy!” he shouted weakly as more tears slid down his cheeks. Realizing the futility of his actions, Quentin rested his forehead on the uncomfortable wooden floor beams and wordlessly prayed as he bled out. Please let Laurie live, he internally implored in desperation, please let her make it. Please do not allow his effort to be in vain.


	11. Why Could This Not Be Reality?

David was roused by a myriad of noises, the sounds indistinct yet piquing his interest enough to crack an eye open. He instantly winced at the sudden brightness, the burning glare forming blurry spots in his field of vision. Blinking away the tears that collected in his orbs, he lifted his head off of whatever surface it rested upon. As his sight completely adjusted, David discovered he had been sitting at a table, its polished wood slightly slick with his drool.

Glancing elsewhere, he took note of several other unoccupied tables and chairs scattered throughout a fairly large room along with a few gaming tables. The general space itself possessed a kind of rustic appeal to it, a breathtaking wooden aesthetic, coupled with lovely painted glass hanging above a serving counter.

He recognized this place; it was that quaint, old-fashioned pub he visited on occasion. No television and a small selection of spirits mind you, but the ale here was truly to die for.

“David?”

It took David a second to notice Quentin’s presence at the table and another second to register a passed-out Dwight here as well. Were they here beforehand? Examining the interior once more, he realized that everyone from their small group of survivors was present. Either they all had suddenly appeared out of thin air or the alcohol was ruining his perception. He was, however, more than happy to agree with the latter explanation.

Laurie and Jake were chatting amongst themselves at a far off table, both seemingly engrossed in conversation while nursing a few beverages of their own. He had to be honest: those two sitting together as they were, with big drunken smiles on their faces, looked right. And not the I-belong-in-this-place or this-is-normal-behaviour kind of right, but them together as friends—closer than friends perhaps. The thought brought with it an undesired mental image of an erotic nature to which David shook his head thoroughly to dislodge. Mind out of the gutter mate, his inner voice scolded, mind out of the gutter.

A little ways away, Claudette and Bill were playing pool and, if his eyes were not deceiving him as well, Bill was purposely throwing the game for the botanist. Claudette did seem to be having some trouble angling the pool cue properly, her shots narrowly missing their target. Although her dejected pout when she failed to hit anything was too adorable for words. Clearly the veteran felt the same, or was unable to stand the sight of her losing any longer, since Bill decided to forgo his next turn to help show her how to hold the stick correctly. With her shot in place, the botanist took a deep breath and struck the cue ball, the white sphere shooting forward to smack a solid red ball into a corner pocket. So impressed with her success, Claudette squealed and jumped up and down on the spot with Bill smirking proudly at her side. David did not believe he had ever seen the botanist act so enthusiastically before. It was nice.

A few grunts directed his attention to the left where he observed a heated table football match between Meg and Feng, their individual competitive natural shining through their aggressive back and forth play. When was the last time those two ever played anything just for the fun of it? Probably never, his mind supplied, and it was a shame really. Although, he supposed that both lasses looked happy enough battling for the winning title, and if they were happy then he was happy for them—as long as they did not kill each other for the win. Then again, a catfight involving two attractive women could be pretty entertaining to watch… and stimulating too.

Drunken laughter drew his gaze away from the action at the football table to a snorting Ace and a giggling Nea. The two of them were casually playing darts while engaging in some sort of intoxicated conversation, the topic of said conversation lost in a flurry of slurs and laughs. He did not envy the hangover they were inevitably going to get but at least, like everyone else here, they were having a grand old time.

“Are you okay David?” Quentin suddenly asked, his words slightly slurred.

David offered the lad a distracted hum as his impaired brain only now registered the smooth and cool sensation numbing the palm of his coiled hand. Said sensation was in fact induced by a half-empty pint of ale, the chill radiating through the glass wetting his appetite for a swig. He then inhaled the familiar, pleasing scent of the drink through his nostrils which brought a stupid grin to his lips. He was better than okay; he was great!

Uncaring of the potential consequences, David took a moment to gulp down the remaining contents of the glass. The strong liquid immediately rejuvenated his taste buds, as if they had been dormant all this time, and providing him with a delightful warm feeling. It had been far too long since he indulged in a stiff drink.

Sighing contentedly and wiping at his mouth, his orbs then hovered fondly over the others in the room. He never thought that he could experience an instance like this again: decent booze shared amongst close mates in a quality establishment. What more could a guy ask for? Well, a few more things actually. More drinks, for example, were a necessity and, if fortune favoured him, perhaps a partner for afterwards. A quick tug of the rod did well enough in a pinch, but the whole package was far more satisfying. Wait, did he not just scold himself earlier for such thoughts? Whatever. He was a man after all and sometimes the urge to sate his sexual cravings were too great to ignore.

As he racked his mind for potential partners, another thought occurred to him: Quentin and Laurie were only seventeen. While underage individuals were able to drink under parental supervision, it was prohibited here—or it should be, if his memory were to be trusted at this time—and the owner could get in serious trouble for serving alcohol to minors. Maybe they lied about their age? Did it really even matter? Seventeen was close enough to legal anyway, and if no one else was going to say anything then he was not about to rat them out. Besides, David had not the heart to spoil this rare moment of peace.

“D-David?” Quentin spoke once again, breaking the scrapper out of his musings.

“Hmm… wha’?”

“W-Well,” the lad stuttered while fidgeting nervously, “umm… you’re kinda fr-freaking me out. Y’know, st-staring at me.”

“Huh?” David muttered dumbly before noticing that he had indeed been staring at Quentin intently. Had he been doing that this whole time? An embarrassed heat spread across his cheeks as he mumbled an apologetic, “Sorry ‘bout ‘at mate. Was just thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ nice.”

“Oh yeah? You, uh, you gonna tell me?”

“Hmm?” The alcohol was really hitting him hard, the lighting growing brighter whilst the room spun. Maybe he should not have chugged that ale down but how could he possibly deny such a treat? Especially when it was so scarce here. Where was here again?

“C’mon,” Quentin whined similar to a needy child, “tell me about the nice thing.” Clearly David was not the only one struggling to hold his liquor.

“It’s _nice_ ,” he voiced on a higher note than intended, “seein’ everyone so ‘appy.”

“Yeah. I guess it is, but I never thought I’d see it in a bar.”

A bar? A _bar?_ Oh no, that way of thinking was _not_ going to go unpunished. A little verbal education was in order if Quentin thought that this fine establishment was a bar.

“ _This_ ,” he enunciated slowly, his meaty arm coming to rest on the lad’s shoulders, “is a pub, _not_ a shite American bar. This place ‘as true culture, a ‘istorical monument to society.”

The flushed teenager choked on a chuckle before saying, “We have historical themed bars in America.”

David scoffed at that and belted out a grouchy, “Why ‘ave a ‘themed bar’ when y’can experience the real thing?”

“For the experience?”

“Cheeky bugger,” David humorously murmured and gave the stupidly smirking teen a friendly little shove in retaliation.

He guessed a themed bar was an experience too even if it seemed like a pathetic knockoff in comparison to the real deal. Speaking of experiences, David spotted a lonely jukebox in the corner of the room just begging to be utilized. What better thing accompanied a good drink than some good tunes? Although, dancing alone was not ideal but, thankfully, he had an available partner to join him.

“Let’s dance,” he bluntly stated to the lad still tucked into the crook of his armpit.

Quentin fussily shook his head, his fingers tapping inconsistently against his glass, and then replied, “M’not much of a dancer.”

Well David was going to change that right quick. “C’mon you, get yer arse up.”

“Wha—Hey!”

He dragged the teenager from across the room, his feet mildly stumbling about, and approached the machine. Once within reach, David turned on the jukebox which immediately spit the lyrics from Blue Monday by New Moon, a popular classic of the eighties. Grunting in approval at the song, he began to move his body, as steadily as he could, to the rhythm of the music. Quentin, on the other hand, stood nervously off to the side looking incredibly out of place.

“C’mon mate,” David encouraged whilst pulling the reluctant lad closer. “Give it a try.”

“Th-That’s okay. I really d—”

“ _Try_ ,” David all but demanded, his eyes boring into Quentin in order to fully express his insistence. He did not wish to force the other to dance yet he believed that this might help the lad break out of his introverted shell.

The teenager drunkenly moaned in annoyance but, after a prolonged minute, Quentin finally began to dance which, mere seconds later, left David speechless. He never imagined that someone could be so dreadful at moving their body, but seeing was believing. In lieu of fluid motions, the boy was all stiff limbs and awkward robotic-like sways from one pose to another. David allowed this shoddy display to carry on for several minutes before his willpower completely dissolved. Try as he might to stifle himself, and he really _did_ try, he eventually burst into stangled cackles. Quentin, unamused at being mocked, angrily huffed and proceeded to stomp back to his seat. Oops; now David had done it.

As the first song ended, a second one started up which just happened to be Running Up The Hill by Kate Bush. With the ideal tune filling the air, he swiftly yanked the teenager back before the other could retreat to the safety of his seat. This was a slower-paced song with a relaxed beat and, as such, was an easier tune to move to; hence even Quentin, with his painful movements, could handle it.

“Lemme go,” Quentin miserably protested in the form of a dejected whine.

When the lad started to squirm, he pulled the younger male flush against him, the extremely close contact causing Quentin’s face to disappear in a flush of scarlet. David, smiling faintly for no specific reason, said nothing and merely took the lead, his arms forcing the lad to move along with him to the gentle beat.

Then, before his impaired mind could register it, the scene slowly began to fade away.

Confused by the abrupt change to his environment, David desperately tried to latch onto his surroundings. New sensations rapidly flooded in and replaced the previous ones: a different and less intense warmth licked his skin; an intermittent crackling noise resounded between Bush’s lyrics; and then numerous voices overlapped one another until one set became more comprehensible than the other.

“We had that!”

“We did our best Meg.”

“I-I know but… fuck! We _had_ almost every gen done, and then he just-just-just—”

“Okay, I’ve got this covered.”

David groggily opened his orbs to witness Nea dragging a fuming Meg into the forest, the runner grumbling the entire way. What was that about? More importantly, where was he? It only took him a single second to realise he was at the campground, the nearby fire drawing his ire as it stung at his sleepy eyes. Bill, Dwight, Feng and Ace were across said fire, the four of them playing a game from the looks of it. They all looked a little uncomfortable though Meg’s outraged comments probably had something to do with that. A few scuffling noises invaded his ears and then he discovered that Claudette had taken a seat beside him.

“It’s nice to see you back at the fire David,” the botanist expressed with a pleased smile.

He returned her smile with one of his own and replied, “Nice ta be back.”

So the pub, the booze, everything that had just happened was all a dream? The harsh realization forced a grim frown to tug at his lips, the happiness he falsely experienced morphing into depression. Something like that was never going to happen—not in this godforsaken place—yet he desperately wanted it to. To be free of this place, to bask in the pleasures of life once more; it all seemed possible but their mysterious captor, the Entity, apparently had other plans for them. Still, it was a nice dream besides.

“Are these recent?” Claudette questioned whilst pointing to his bandages.

“Nah, but I gotta get ‘em off.”

“Oh, here,” she hastily voiced, her delicate instantly springing into action, “let me help.”

David stretched briefly to remove the stiffness that had settled in his limbs, his muscles protesting rather loudly in process, and then said, “Thanks lass.” The botanist then went straight to work, her deft fingers unwinding the bindings from his shoulder and torso with practiced ease.

“Looks like everything’s healed up nicely,” she commented as she carefully inspected each affected area. “All that’s needed is to pull out these stitches.”

While Claudette gathered the necessary tools from her pouch to facilitate the task, David inquired, “Wha’ was Meg on ‘bout? Before Nea dragged ‘er off.”

“She was upset over our last trial,” the botanist solemnly informed. “We didn’t make it.”

Upset did not seem the appropriate word to attribute to the heated snarl Meg had sported moments ago. He supposed it was a good thing that Nea whisked the fuming runner before she had all of their ears bleeding from her angry raving. Regrettably, if the tag artist had only done so sooner, he might have been able to enjoy his dream a little while longer for it had just started to get interesting.

“We were doing well. F-For the most part,” Claudette hesitantly amended, “and then the killer got us before we could finish the last gen.”

David offered an apology for her misfortune and then asked, “Wha’ ‘bout the others?”

“Laurie and Quentin were alive when we died so they might still survived.”

“Hope so,” he mumbled under his breath whilst the botanist went to dispose of his dirty bandages into the fire. He marveled at how quick and painless the whole process had been; Claudette was truly was a miracle worker with such things.

Brushing her hands together, the botanist made her way back over to his side, found a comfortable position to sit in and weirdly gawked at the dancing flames of their fire. “It was really strange though.”

“Wha’ was?”

She frowned, her mouth wrinkling at the corners, and said, “Well, I mean the killers sometimes do strange things to throw us off or separate us but…”

“But?” David reiterated the word, his interest in her answer growing.

Claudette shook her head and waved her hand back-and-forth in the air. “It-It’s not important.”

“I’d like ta ‘ear it,” he told her as he lazily gestured to the rest of the campground. “Nothin’ else interestin' happenin’ right now.”

“The Nightmare,” she began after releasing a peculiar sigh, “he wasn’t hurting Quentin. He’d ignore him or shove him out of the way but he never _attacked_ him.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” the botanist automatically agreed, “and I just don’t get why.”

“New tactic?”

She shrugged at the suggestion and said, “Not a very good one if we almost made it out.”

“Maybe he was just savin’ Quentin for last?” David threw out, his second guess making more sense to him than his first. “The Shape does somethin’ similar with Laurie.”

“I… I guess so,” Claudette uttered though she did not sound too convinced. “Still, it w—”

A sudden smacking noise accompanied by the rustling of leaves resounded close by. Diverting his gaze to the noises, David watched as Quentin madly dashed into the clearing, the lad appearing completely out of breath but free of any injuries. With hazy blue eyes blown wide, the fatigued teen frantically scanned the area in search of something.

“L-Laurie?” Quentin barely emitted between pants, the urgency in his inquiry causing some eyebrows to raise in suspicion.

“Hasn’t come back yet,” Ace answered for everyone present, his tone adopting a hint of worry at the end of his sentence.

“I’m here.”

David briefly glanced at the babysitter before his eyes refocused on Quentin, the lad looking even more distressed then before as he addressed Laurie by stammering out a hopeful, “Did-Did you get away?” The babysitter supplied him with a regretful shake of her head which had the tired teenager sniffling in despair. “M’sorry, I-I’m so… I should’ve done more and—”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurie lightly reassured the other and then shuffled closer to wrap her arms around the now sobbing lad. Quentin, as far as David was able to see, did not reciprocate the embrace and merely rested his head on her shoulder whilst he hugged himself—as if he was suffering from a gut ache.

“It’s ‘ard to watch innit?” David idly uttered, his hands faintly clenching in his lap at the sight of the lad crying. It was slightly unnerving but, more than anything, it was heartbreaking to witness Quentin in such a sorry state. “It’s always 'bout someone else, neva 'bout themselves.”

He felt Claudette eye him as she curiously asked, “What’re you talking about?”

“He don’ even care ‘bout ‘is life at all,” David irritably stated, his short speak—if he could classify it as such—providing him a means of venting his stress.

“Well—”

“Don’ he care ‘bout wha’ the rest of u—”

“Is this about Quentin or is this about Alex?” Christ, her perception to accurately read a situation and tackle it accordingly was near perfect. Admittedly, David was a touch peeved at her for voicing his inner thoughts aloud.

“Both,” he eventually answered after wrestling with old memories. “Alex neva ‘ad a care for ‘imself, was always obsessin’ over everyone else’s problems. Wouldn’ ‘ave killed ‘im to put ‘imself first once in awhile.”

Claudette, though seemingly wanting to say something, decided against commenting and David was grateful for it. His mood had already spiraled downwards upon awakening and he did not think he could stomach _this_ kind of conversation right now. Redirecting his attention to Quentin and Laurie, he watched as the lad backed away from the babysitter’s embrace and stiffly retreated into the treeline. David disliked how distraught the other male seemed to remain even after receiving comfort. What the hell warranted such a reaction anyway?

“What happened during the trial?” the botanist questioned Laurie when the other woman approached.

“After you were killed,” the babysitter started to explain as she took a seat beside Claudette, “The Nightmare found me. I tried to get away but he headed me off in the street.” Laurie then smiled, her chipper expression a rare sight, and then admitted, “Quentin came and saved me though. Smashed a pumpkin over the killer’s head to do it.” Claudette stifled a giggle or two whilst David laughed freely at the mental image of the mangled bastard wearing a pumpkin head.

“Now ‘at woulda been a sight.” Why did he not think to do that beforehand? It was juvenile, overly so in his opinion, yet surprisingly effective for stunning a killer.

“I ran off and tried to find some supplies to mend myself with,” Laurie resumed after their laughter had subsided, “but we’d already looted everywhere. Basement included. Then I heard Quentin shout so I doubled back but I couldn’t find him. I found a wet patch in the grass, from blood I think, but no tracks.”

“No tracks?” Claudette reiterated in disbelief whilst David shared a similar notion. There should have been a _few_ blood trails or footprints left behind to follow.

“None that I could see,” the babysitter asserted, “so I figured he must’ve got away. Then I headed inside the nearest house to repair another generator. Y’know, the one on the second floor in Michael’s house.” At his and Claudette’s nod, Laurie went on to say, “I finished it but the killer pulled me off at the last second. I managed to break free only to get downed again before I could escape.”

David mustered up a comforting smile for Laurie, the gesture barely feeling genuine, yet one question still nagged at him. “Wha’ ‘bout Quentin?”

“I never saw him again after the pumpkin incident. I guess he didn’t make it either,” she voiced with a hint of sadness, her shoulders narrowly slumping—possibly in regret. “But I’m not sure what _actually_ happened to him.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Claudette questioned.

“No. I… I don’t think he wanted to talk about it.”

“Oh, well, umm,” Claudette weakly stuttered out after a tense moment, “we'll just have to do better next time.” Laurie hummed in agreement while David opted to simply nod, his focus lying elsewhere.

His eyes lingered on the spot between the trees where Quentin had disappeared through. David, though unknowning of why, was full of worry for their youngest member. He understood a bad trial as well as the next person here so he allowed the lad his space for the time being. Although, if Quentin secluded himself for too long then he was going to seek the teen out. Quentin needed support, perhaps from someone aside from the girls, and David could not, in good conscience, call himself a true friend if he did not try to aid the other male. Besides, he wanted to make good on the relationship they set out to mend together.

David was going to make certain that he did not commit the same mistake he did with Alexander. Only this time, no fists, and he mercifully prayed that he did not fuck this up somehow.


	12. Rising Up Only To Fall Again

Quentin angrily navigated through the trees, his brisk pace surprisingly not tripping him up in the slightest. The boy clutched tightly at his cross pendant while being bombarded by several weighty thoughts, his teeth grit in exasperation the entire time.

He had managed to save no one, not even himself, from the sinister clutches of Freddy Krueger.

The situation here was no different than that of the real world. He did his best, fought with all the power he could muster, but people still ended up hurt or killed. Nothing changed, and nothing ever will at this rate. Still he refused to give in to his negativity, the darkness that was depression and hopelessness. Doing so was like admitting defeat to the enemy and, for him, something like that was unacceptable.

And admitting defeat to the likes of Krueger? Never!

Freddy enjoyed his games, and if Quentin refused to participate then the man may look elsewhere. To other potential victims. No; he would not allow it. If he gave in, lord knows what horrors would befall his friends. Though they still suffered despite any action he took, and not just with Freddy. Every killer here was an issue, a problem that showed no signs of disappearing.

There had to be a way to change things for the better. A way where everyone could escape trials without injury or death. A way where everyone felt no sadness or pain or fear. A way where no one could be hurt by this retched place again. You are a fool if you believe that, his mind whispered with unusual glee.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled. Wishful thinking was the only thing keeping him sane even if it seemed increasingly useless these days.

Days? He felt sick, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as the word swam around in his brain. Has it been days or longer? Maybe shorter, but it was impossible to tell in this world. It certainly felt as though he had been here for an eternity, running through the same mundane routine: fight, die, and then repeat. The only variable in said routine was the people trapped alongside him.

Dwight, his desire to prove himself encouraged others to follow in his footsteps. Claudette, her kindness a precious rarity just like the flowers she picked. Meg, her endurance unmatched as she ran circles around would-be threats. Jake, his iron will and perseverance to survive made him a formidable ally. Nea, her stealthy nature allowed her to complete tasks others could not. Bill, his ability to remain strong no matter the situation was admirable. Feng, her competitiveness to win pushed everyone else to do the same. Ace, his natural good fortune frequently aided the group during dire times. Laurie, her determination even in the darkest of times inspired others to keep going. And David, his fighting prowess unrivalled as he confidently beat back foes with his bare hands.

They all were unique and gifted with incredible skills. They made this tedious routine, like a washing machine unable to break away from the spin cycle, bearable. Them and a certain someone he hoped was alive and well.

His mind drifted to Nancy: her shy smile, her flawless skin, her long flowing brunette hair. Quentin wondered how she was doing, if she was living in peace now. Was she sleeping better? Was she happy? So many questions, all of which he wanted to be able to ask her. He prayed that he would get the chance to do so. Assuming, of course, he made it out of this place alive. If at all.

“Shut up,” he mumbled to himself, his mind seemingly hell bent on destroying his willpower. Huffing in annoyance, he tore his beanie from his head and tangled his fingers in the freed, unruly strands.

Tilting his head up, his eyes roamed aimlessly over the blank slate that was the pitch-black sky. Sucking in a deep breath, Quentin shot a determined glare at it. He had to remain strong. That was all that mattered now.

Suddenly, a burst of pain spread across his cheek. Hissing at the burning sensation, he had but a second to react before being backhanded to the ground. Quentin grunted dully when his head collided with a tree trunk. He felt warm liquid dribble down the side of his face as spots threatened to overwhelm his vision. Then he registered a hand tugging him upright by the shirt and a body crushing his back into hard, scratchy bark.

God, not now. He only just finished dealing with Krueger; he did not need this now. Could he have just one moment of relative peace?

“Hi Quen.” Freddy leaned in close to nuzzle his mangled cheek into the boy’s bleeding one, the man’s tongue flicking out to lick the small cut there. “Ready for another game?” he whispered near the teen’s ear excitedly.

Quentin squirmed against Freddy’s hold, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as fear began to weigh down his limbs. “No.”

“But you were so eager before.”

“I was never—just leave me alone,” Quentin finished quietly, unable to come up with a proper comeback given the circumstances.

“I don’t think so,” the burned man said in a creepy fashion. “You’re g—”

“Why me?”

A pause ensued. Then Freddy moved his head to stare face-to-face with his pinned prey, their noses mere centimetres apart. The pure hatred in Krueger’s eyes had him shrinking inward and he found himself unable to mirror the look as he had done several times before. His fear was consuming him too greatly this time.

“You don’t know? You took what mattered most from me. You robbed me of my Nancy,” he hissed angrily. “We would’ve be—”

“Oh shut up!” he snapped, his tears momentarily stopping as bits of rage bubbled under his skin. “She was never yours, you sick fuck. None of us were!”

“No?” he mumbled before resting his forehead against Quentin’s. “Are you sure about that?”

The boy barely held the monster’s intense gaze, his body shaking every so often, yet replied with a firm, “Yes.”

“That wasn’t what you said to me in my bedroom all those years ago—”

“S-Shut up!”

“—as you curled your little hands around my arm while I stroked y—”

“Stop it!” he screamed, his fists bunching into the fabric of the man’s ugly sweater.

Quentin did not want to remember whatever despicable memory Freddy was recollecting. The fact that he had not already remembered was a miracle.

“You said you were mine,” Krueger reminded the young man, his blades gently tracing the outline of Quentin’s jaw. “Do you remember that?”

“N-No,” he almost silently squeaked out.

A disgusting smile appeared on Freddy’s lips as he uttered, “Do you want t—”

“No!” Quentin screamed much louder. This sick game between them had been drawn out for long enough. He was not going to wait for whatever the bastard had planned next. “Get the fuck off of me!”

He tried to knee Freddy in the groin again, but the man anticipated his move and angled his crotch out of the way. However, the action gave Quentin the distraction he needed to deliver a few semi-solid punches to the man’s face. Next, he grasped Freddy’s shoulders with both hands and drove his knee twice into the bastard’s gut. Freddy shifted from the assault, enough so where Quentin had room to escape. He took the opportunity to flee only for a hand to grab at his ankle and pull him down. He kicked out, managing to dislodge Freddy’s grip on him, and swiftly rolled over onto his back.

When the menacing figure rose up and stepped into a patch of light, Quentin was stunned to see Jake Park standing there.

That could not have been right. Through heavy breaths, he squinted to see a touch of blood leaking out from Jake’s bottom lip. He must have hit the saboteur by accident during his scuffle with Krueger. Or rather when he mistook Jake for Freddy. Mistook Freddy for Jake? He did not know anymore.

Out of all the people he could encounter, of all the people he might harm accidently, why did it have to be Jake? The guy was already dealing with some sort of grudge against David. Now he was likely to turn on Quentin as well though the tired teen hardly blamed him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he repeated the mantra over and over and over.

Quentin grasped hard at his curls, nearly pulling out the roots, as more tears fell. His words continued to repeat, like a broken record, for a minute before his voice gave out. He did not wish to fight again, not with another friend, but he had just attacked Jake. Savagely lashed out at him and, as far as Jake knew, for no reason. Yet the saboteur did not appear terribly angered or attempted to approach him. Instead the man crouched on a single knee a little ways away, one hand cupped in front of him as if he were holding something.

Near-black eyes studied Quentin, their appearance critical from what he could make out. It was strange but Quentin was grateful for the space nonetheless; it gave him a chance to gather his bearings and calm his nerves. Jake eventually moved to a sitting position and patiently waited for the other male to do something.

Was the saboteur waiting for an apology? No, wait, Quentin had just apologized multiple times. Probably an explanation then. What was he to say this time? It was getting harder and harder to hide these micro-naps from everyone. He swore Freddy was triggering them somehow and at the worst possible times too. That or maybe the Entity had a dark sense of humor. Given their presence in this place and the trials that awaited them, he was not averse to the idea.

“You g—”

“I’m sorry,” Quentin reiterated again while effectively interrupting the guy. It probably would not hurt to apology one more time.

“I knew that the first thousand times you said it,” Jake deadpanned with mild irritation evident in his voice. Perhaps Quentin was in the wrong for apologizing again, but he could not help himself. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” The look Jake gave him clearly demonstrated that his comment went unbelieved. “I’ll be fine.”

The saboteur still had that disbelieving look on his face but apparently decided to let the topic slide. Jake motioned for Quentin to join him where he now sat on the ground. Quentin hesitated for a second before proceeding to do just that, wincing slightly as his limbs protested against his movements.

“You’re bleeding,” Jake commented while stroking a thumb over what looked like a black ball in his hands.

Quentin dabbed his fingers over the cut on his temple to find nothing save for crusty blood clinging to his skin and scalp. He rubbed the dried crimson flakes away with his sleeve and said, “Not anymore. It’s fine.” The wound on his cheek seemed to be closed as well but a gross slickness remained. Said slickness was furiously scrubbed at until the flesh was left burning and raw. “But you’re lip is—”

“Healed now,” the saboteur interjected.

“And your stom—”

“Also fine.”

Quentin did not feel very reassured and quietly asked, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” This guy was indeed a man of few words. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Oh o-okay, umm g-good. I’m s—” Quentin cut himself short from uttering yet another apology. That was apparently the last thing the man wanted to hear. “S-So I… I couldn’t see very well and y-you kinda spooked me and then I-I mistook you for someone else and… what’s in your hand?”

Jake continued to stare at him, his gaze less harsh than before yet still calculating. Nowhere near as calculating as the looks Feng sometimes gave him, but still just as powerful and a little intimidating too. Though Jake was far less blunt about it, always displaying an air of mystery with every expression. He really needed to learn this look. Might come in handy sometime.

Eventually, the saboteur slowly moved his hand closer to Quentin’s leg. Once in view, the teen noticed that the black ball was not a ball at all. It was a black baby bird, its feathered wings curled into its tiny body as it nestled into the saboteur’s palm.

Quentin never recalled seeing any baby birds here or in any of the trials he was forced into. Just bigger birds: bigger, more annoying, black birds—most likely crows, or at least he thought so—that squawked at every given opportunity. They did look quite beautiful though, striking an imposing pose while perched on whatever surface they could find to rest on. Those feathery aviators did not appear to have a care in the world. They just existed, surviving in their own way somehow. It embarrassed him to admit that he was a touch jealous. Of a fucking bird no less.

He wondered for a moment if the birds were capable of leaving this place. Flying so high into the midnight sky that they breached through into another world. The idea seemed silly but it fascinated him all the same.

Jake suddenly readjusted Quentin’s hands to face palm side up and delicately deposited the small creature into them. “Wai—”

“Shh,” Jake whispered with a finger to his lips.

Quentin was a little nervous holding such a tiny thing. He did not want to hurt or scare the bird by accident, but Jake declined to take back the winged creature.

Jake offered a nod in Quentin’s general direction and then questioned, “Did he do this?”

“’He?’” Oh no. Did the saboteur manage to catch a glimpse of Freddy somehow? Witness their fight?

“David.”

Well that was unexpected, or maybe not. “No. David didn’t do this,” Quentin asserted, “and why would you even—”

“He’s violent,” Jake responded candidly.

“You’re verbally violent,” he blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Jake snarled out, his calm demeanor cracking at the edges.

“I…” Quentin trailed off noiseless when he realized the futility of explaining his words. Curse his stupid mouth.

He took a deep breath and gently ran a finger over the baby bird’s spine. The bird seemed to find his strokes pleasing as it simply made itself more comfortable in his hand. At least that was one creature sated. He had to be careful with what he said to the saboteur next.

Like Laurie, he truly did not desire to get involved with the dispute between David and Jake. However, perhaps talking to Jake might help their situation. So long as his plan did not backfire of course. Like it usually did.

“Look, I have no idea what went on between you and David before I got here,” Quentin stated while ensuring he held Jake’s attention, “and whatever it was is none of my business.”

He lightly petted the bird’s soft head when the creature started to stir. The teen decided to speak more softly to avoid disrupting its sleep. “But whatever’s going on now? If it has anything to do those fights David and I ha—”

“’Fights?’” Did he say fights? Shit! He screwed up. The group only knew about their fight during that one trial. This was not going according to plan, and now it was too late to abort. “How long has he been hitting you?”

“He’s n—”

“The way I see it,” Jake said as he stared straight ahead of him, “he’s abusing you.”

“Abusing m—No!” Quentin screeched, the noise causing the creature in his hand to shake. “He’s not hitting me. We’re not fighting anymore. We made up.”

“So you’ve said.” Quentin disliked the other’s tone. He disliked the rigid posture and guarded expression Jake directed at him. The seriousness of it all was nearly suffocating, enough so to make him dread voicing his next question.

“W-what,” he stammered out slowly, “are you implying?”

“David’s a big guy,” Jake commented, stating the obvious to emphasize his next point, or punchline, no doubt. “Capable. I wouldn’t put it past him to use his… strength to get what he wants.”

“You think he-he’s what? Forcing me to say what he wants…” his voice went quiet as the stern, somber gaze Jake sent him confirmed his questions.

How could the saboteur possibly think that? Worse still: how was he supposed to answer that? There was only one thing that came to mind, something practically off topic but fitting for this instance. Might as well go for it.

“Do you know why I forgave David?” he asked slowly.

The other male’s eyes slanted downward just a little as he uttered, “No.”

“For the most part, I forgave him for the sake of the group. Our fighting was affecting everyone else and I hated myself for that,” Quentin confessed while sending a pointed stare at the saboteur. Jake merely shifted his eyes away in response.

“The other part though,” Quentin continued after a few seconds, “was for us. If David and I kept fighting, we’d never be able to move forward. It would’ve made things more difficult than they should’ve been. Or-Or already were. And we’re already fighting killers and trying to fight off the Entity itself too. I just didn’t wanna add to that y’know. I don’t wanna fight against a friend… well, potential friend at the time.”

As Jake remained silent, Quentin decided to press on believing that his words were reaching the man. “Everyone hides behind something in this place. They put up like a mask, to cope with everything here.”

He resumed stroking the now awake bird in his hand as the feathered aviator leaned into his finger. “I think David hides behind anger. He uses violence instead of expressing his true feelings.”

Quentin clutched his cross pendant again, his fingers nervously rubbing at its curves and grooves. “I hide behind, well… happiness. Staying positive is the best way to help my friends.”

Jake half-heartedly scratched at his fingernails as he said, “But not you.”

“It helps me too,” the teen assured, “but it helps me more when it helps everyone else here.”

Several minutes passed and no further words were spoken between the pair. Quentin thought he may have ruined the moment with his prior response until Jake blurted out, “Security.”

“What?”

Jake gave him a sideways glance as he elaborated on his previous word. “I hide behind security. I don’t trust others easily.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Quentin felt the need to justify his statement to avoid any confrontation. “It-It was kinda obvious.”

Jake hummed aloud but offered no other comment.

“All I’m asking is that you give David a chance. Give everyone, myself included,” Quentin added with a hand held to his heart, “a chance. A chance to prove our trust to you. You have a lot to offer the group and we all have a lot to offer you in return. I would’ve never gotten so good at repairing generators without your help.”

“I-I know I’m probably asking a lot from you,” the tired teen continued on, “and I have no right to expect anything. And there’s no, umm pressure on you to do anything. You can ignore every-everything I said just now. B-But I think it would benefit everybody and you, _especially you_ , to try and—”

“You’re rambling,” the saboteur simply remarked, his voice almost sounding humorous.

An embarrassed heat flared in Quentin’s cheeks and he went to apologize, yet again, only for a calloused hand to cover his mouth. Apparently Jake was also a mind reader, like several of the others here, and had an inkling of what he was about to say. Or the man did not wish to be interrupted by the younger male.

“I’ll try,” Jake declared, “but I won’t promise anything.”

The teen beamed at the saboteur once the hand was removed and said, “That’s all I’m asking.”

Quentin rose to his feet, his legs tingly from sitting for so long in the same position. He proceeded to leave but not before turning around to mumble, “Thanks Jake.”

“For what?” the saboteur questioned curiously while finally accepting the baby bird the teen handed off to him.

“For listening,” Quentin said in a grateful tone accompanied by a smile geared at the other male. “I-I’d really like to learn more about toolbox repairs sometime… if you’re willing to teach me?”

Jake said nothing but nodded in response, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. Quentin too nodded and then headed out to continue his little venture through the woods.

Along the way, he plucked a fluorescent mushroom from the base of a tree trunk. He twirled the stem between his fingers as he internally rejoiced. The conversation, though having a horrible start, seemed to end fairly well.

He forgot to inquire about the words Jake had whispered to David back at the campfire some time ago but he realized that it was for the best. Just as he and David needed to solve their dispute for themselves, so too did Jake and David. It was not his place to probe for information, especially since the saboteur never did either. At least not with him anyways.

Quentin was just happy to be able to talk to the saboteur. Their relationship was similar to his prior relationship with Laurie: occasional glances and few words exchanged. Not good enough for his likely to be completely honest. Now, though, he sought out the determined babysitter’s company more often. Mostly for conversation but also to play the odd game or two to pass the time between trials. She was amazing at chess and even better at checkers.

He prayed he would be capable of extending his relationship with Jake too. In the meantime, Quentin was going to grant the man his space until the saboteur was ready to open up to the rest of them. No need to push the change too quickly lest Jake retreat back to the safety of seclusion once more.

He too knew of seclusion, knew of the comfort and peace it brought. However, he also knew of the sorrow and pain it brought as well. While Jake was seemingly accustomed to being on his own, Quentin believed that there was some good to be had by having friends. Especially here, where friends were hard to come by and even more difficult to keep. But the effort was worth it; so worth it. They made life easier here, more tolerable. And he would be damned if Jake did not experience a little piece of it. Yes, with friendship came certain woes and hardships, but what aspect in life did not have a drawback of some kind? Besides the benefits outweighed the negatives. For good, healthy, and strong relationships that is.

Without his notice, the trees abruptly ended to reveal yet another pond. This particular one appeared to be unmarked which was odd given how thoroughly these woods were scoured through. Then again, this area was indeed large and evidently endless, so far as anyone knew. Hence there was bound to be other hidden, undiscovered treasures scattered all over the place. No matter the size.

His body began to tremble once more as he glanced forlornly at the water. Biting his lip, Quentin shut his eyes and breathed deeply for a minute before casting his mushroom aside. Fuck this nonsense.

Removing his shoes and socks, he parked his rear on the bank on the pond. Fearing as though the water would attack him, Quentin shakily placed his feet into the shallows. His breathing sped up as his flesh tingled from the chill of the liquid. Moments past and nothing happened. No claws rose out of the water, no foreboding chuckles were heard. Nothing.

A fresh wave of tears burst through his re-enacted defenses and his shoulders shook while he coiled his arms around his bent legs. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against his knees as he allowed himself to cry.

It should not be this hard to simply stick his feet in the water but it was. The fear, it was impossible to quell. He wanted to though, so badly. His body craved the feeling of the cool liquid, the welcoming sensation of goosebumps all over his skin and damp hair sticking to his forehead. Yet he could not force himself to give into his pleasure as his mind continued to ache from trepidation.

His sobs and cries of anguish became more prominent as he gave into his fears once more. He hastily tore his feet out of the shallows and scurried away from the water’s edge. His head hurt terribly as it pounded away at the inside of his skull. The gnawing sensation in his stomach increased but he managed to withhold the urge to retch.

With great difficulty, he cranked his head to the darkness above and muttered a broken, “Why me?”


	13. Break Me Down

After waiting for a reasonable amount of time, David lit a makeshift torch and headed off into the woods. Some of his fellow survivors gave him funny looks but he paid no mind to it. He did not desire to waste time explaining his actions to them. Thankfully the others did not attempt to question him about his departure either. Perhaps they thought he was going for another dip or just a stroll around the area. It mattered little to David what explanation they came up with. All that mattered to him was finding Quentin. And, yes, maybe he was jumping the gun a bit on the timing but he was too worried about the boy to give a damn.

He had been following Quentin’s tracks for a while now but the subtle shoeprints seemed to continue on forever. As his journey grew longer, the fire began to quickly consume the dry bit of timber in his hand. It would not last much longer; he had to hurry.

Suddenly he heard noises up ahead. Straining his ears, he managed to make out multiple voices speaking in hushed tones. Panicking, David swiftly extinguished his makeshift torch and stealthily approached the source of the noises. Since majority of the survivors were relaxing at the fire, there were only four individuals said voices could belong to: Quentin, Meg, Nea, or Jake.

Creeping closer and careful to avoid being revealed, he crouched behind a wide tree trunk surrounded by lush bushes. From here, the scrapper was able to make out two figures sitting together on the ground. Visibility was poor so he had difficulty identifying the figures but, judging from their voices, it sounded to be both Quentin and Jake. What exactly it was they were speaking about was unknown but he intended to find out.

“David,” Jake uttered. David froze immediately, believing that his presence had been discovered. Why was being sneaky so bloody hard?

“No. David didn’t do this.” Okay then. So apparently the pair did not know he was spying on them after all. But they were talking about him. And did what? What did he not do? “And why would you even—”

“He’s violent,” the saboteur responded.

“You’re verbally violent,” Quentin blurted a second later, and boy was that a statement David could get behind. Though he begrudgingly had to agree with the Jake’s comment as well. He was violent, but he was making an effort not to be. The scrapper had thought their previous trial together demonstrated a fraction of that effort. Apparently it was going to take more time to prove himself to the saboteur but he was prepared for it.

“Excuse me?” Jake snarled out.

Someone was losing his cool, and it was probably the first time David had ever heard such a bite in the guy’s voice. Not even when Jake was pointing out his flaws and belittling him.

“I…” Quentin tried to say but the scrapper heard no other words spoken.

David was becoming a regular sneak; Nea would be so proud. Then again, he really should not be eavesdropping. Yet, despite the feeling of guilt swishing around in his gut, his limbs refused to move. He was genuinely curious as to what might be said between the two males, and even more so if the conversation involved him. Making his presence known prematurely was only going to complicate the situation. David had yet to reconcile things with Jake after all. And maybe, just maybe, this conversation the two of them were having would give him an idea on how to do that.

“Look,” David perked his head up at the sound of Quentin’s voice, “I have no idea what went on between you and David before I got here and whatever it was is none of my business. But whatever’s going on now? If it has anything to do those fights David and I ha—”

“’Fights?’” A pause ensued, and David wondered what was so fascinating about the word. He pondered it for a mere moment until his mind lit up in realisation. No one else knew about their first scuffle by the pond. Damn. “How long has he been hitting you?”

“He’s n—”

“The way I see it,” Jake said, “he’s abusing you.”

Why that fucking arse. David had to physically restrain himself from beating the guy into a pile of crimson mush. The scrapper may be many things but an abuser was not one of them. The voice residing in his mind disagreed, claiming that his opinion of himself was biased. David bit his tongue in frustration, the pain distracting him from the potential truth of that claim.

“Abusing m—No!” Quentin screeched. “He’s not hitting me. We’re not fighting anymore. We made up.”

“So you’ve said.” Unbelievable. Jake truly had no trust in him at all. Did this guy trust anyone?

“W-what are you implying?” Quentin stammered out, and David tightly clenched his fists in anticipation of the answer.

“David’s a big guy,” Jake said. “Capable. I wouldn’t put it past him to use his… strength to get what he wants.”

The scrapper scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“You think he-he’s what?” he heard Quentin voice his question for him. “Forcing me to say what he wants…”

A prolonged silence followed, and David was left with a hollow feeling in his chest which quickly morphed into a burning one. The rage he had been trying to repress during his forced isolation was igniting inside with ease, the whole thing as simple as turning on a hot water valve. He made to stand, his only focus being to drive his massive fist into Jake’s face.

“Do you know why I forgave David?” Quentin asked, the question causing David to still as his anger went from piping hot to lukewarm in seconds. This was something he had wanted to know for a long time. After Jake uttered a curt no, Quentin spoke again and David was all ears.

“For the most part, I forgave him for the sake of the group. Our fighting was affecting everyone else and I hated myself for that.”

David too hated the harm he caused his friends because of their stupid fight. Maybe not in the heat of the moment, but he did. Things should have gone differently however the scrapper ensured things only went one way: the brutal way. The way that involved fists and blood and violence. His stomach twisted again as his prior guilt resurfaced.

“The other part though,” Quentin continued, “was for us. If David and I kept fighting, we’d never be able to move forward. It would’ve made things more difficult than they should’ve been. Or-Or already were. And we’re already fighting killers and trying to fight off the Entity itself too. I just didn’t wanna add to that y’know. I don’t wanna fight against a friend… well, potential friend at the time.”

This kid. David smiled sadly at the teen’s word, moisture forming in his eyes without permission. Quentin really was Alexander in disguise. Different people for sure, yet they both possessed nearly identical beliefs. And that unwavering confidence they held in others. David used to chalk it up to stupidity or recklessness, and it probably still was, but it was also amazing. Amazing that someone could hold such a strong, positive opinion of another. Even if that other person was not a friend. He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head as a few traitorous tears slid down his cheeks.

“Everyone hides behind something in this place,” Quentin started up again. “They put up like a mask, to cope with everything here. I think David hides behind anger. He uses violence instead of expressing his true feelings.”

David was sad to admit just how true those words were. Violence was easier to express, and a lot more interesting too. Talking was, to sum it up, hard. He hated talking about his feelings since those emotional conversations often made his head ache and his heart clench. It was also better to avoid said talks as they frequently led to his temper being unleashed. He was unable to control it or, more accurately, he did not want to. Aggression was his way of handling all the annoying and hurtful things thrown at him. It was bizarre and unorthodox, but he did not know of any other methods to employ.

“I hide behind, well… happiness. Staying positive is the best way to help my friends.”

Happiness? Quentin fakes being happy? David frowned deeply, not at all liking the sound of that one bit.

“But not you,” the scrapper heard Jake comment.

“It helps me too,” Quentin said, “but it helps me more when it helps everyone else here.”

Fucking hell. Does this kid ever think about himself? It hurt to think that Quentin was sacrificing his happiness for the rest of them. Would the boy be happier if he was selfish? Probably not but, then again, David did not think the guy even had it in him to be self-centered. Quentin was far too focused on everyone else and their needs.

David understood the gesture at its roots. When he saved his friends during trials, it helped quell the constricting feeling in his chest, the feeling of hopelessness. The horrible feeling would diminish further when he watched his friends at the fire, smiling and laughing without a care in the world. Like, just for a single moment, everything was okay and nothing else mattered here. However, there was only so much he could give out to everyone else. Sometimes he had to take a little from the others to keep himself from drowning in his own thoughts; to keep himself sane. He doubted Quentin took as much as he gave. Come to think of it, the kid never took and only received if the issue was pressed. David was beginning to feel more and more nauseated at his lack of attentiveness.

“Security,” Jake abruptly voiced, the noise prompting David to tune back into the conversation.

“What?”

“I hide behind security. I don’t trust others easily.” David rolled his eyes comically at that. No kidding; he never would have guessed.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Quentin said. “It-It was kinda obvious.”

David heard the saboteur hum but offer nothing else.

“All I’m asking is that you give David a chance,” Quentin spoke once more. “Give everyone, myself included, a chance. A chance to prove our trust to you. You have a lot to offer the group and we all have a lot to offer you in return. I would’ve never gotten so good at repairing generators without your help.”

David too would appreciate a chance to prove his trust. An actual chance, not some half-assed or empty one. He would rather not have their little dispute drag on and on. It was unusually tiring to put up with.

Normally he was all for a fight, and was already gearing up for one earlier on. However, ever since he had started controlling his temper, it took a fair bit of provoking to awaken it. Among his fellow survivors anyways but not so much with the killers. Directing his inner strength, if he could call it that, at killers was never going to stop anytime soon. And he would be there, front and center, doing what he did best to protect his friends while using the dangerous rage hidden just beneath his skin.

“I-I know I’m probably asking a lot from you,” the teen continued on, “and I have no right to expect anything. And there’s no, umm pressure on you to do anything. You can ignore every-everything I said just now. B-But I think it would benefit everybody and you, _especially you_ , to try and—”

“You’re rambling,” the saboteur remarked.

Was that humor? David did not just hear Jake Park, silent and broody Jake Park, say something with humor. His mind was imploding right now, but the saboteur was right in his observation. Quentin was rambling, his hurried speech quite adorable to listen to if David was being honest.

David shook his head to remove the thought. Where the hell did that come from?

“I’ll try,” Jake said, “but I won’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Quentin responded.

Jake was going to try? David would believe that when he saw it. Still, it would not kill the scrapper to go out on a limb for the saboteur. He owed it to everyone here to give Jake a chance as well and he intended to prove himself to the man in his own way.

“Thanks Jake,” Quentin uttered, and David squinted to see the teen standing in front of the saboteur. Was the kid leaving?

“For what?” Jake asked.

“For listening,” Quentin replied. “I-I’d really like to learn more about toolbox repairs sometime… if you’re willing to teach me?”

Oh shit. The kid could not leave yet.

While the whole spying thing was not planned, he still wished to speak to Quentin. Although, if the teen left, then David would be able to chat with him alone. The scrapper certainly was not ready for a conversation with Jake, and he especially did not want to drag Quentin into it. The kid, as well as everyone else here for that matter, needed a break from this drama. At this point, this whole thing was turning into a teenaged soap opera, and David was not keen on holding the starring role.

When Quentin moved out of sight, David followed noiselessly after him. He kept his distance for the time being, wanting to ensure that he was far enough away from Jake so the saboteur did not unexpectedly drop in on them.

After a while, the teen stopped in front of a pond, his head darting around as if looking for something. David made to approach the other until Quentin proceeded to remove his shoes and socks. Was the kid going to bathe? Perhaps he should save his conversation with the other male for later.

He himself usually preferred to bathe in peace and became irked when someone interrupted his quiet time. He did not desire to become a hypocrite and do the same. Or turn into some kind of pervert by watching the teen undress.

Quentin, however, did not shed the rest of his clothes as David initially thought. Instead the kid sat at the edge of the pond and stuck his feet into the water.

A moment passed and nothing else happened. Then David’s ears picked up on it; the sound of crying. Quentin was crying and, from what David could see, the boy had tucked himself into a little ball. Soon after, the teen scurried away from the water while his continued to sob.

“Why me?” the teen suddenly croaked, his tone of voice reducing David to tears.

Go comfort him idiot, his mind screamed at him. David did not need to be told twice. He was not about to sit idly by while a friend suffered. Stifling his sniffles, David emerged from the foliage and placed a gentle hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

“Quentin?”

The teen flinched away and whipped his head around, his gaze fearful as he stared up into David’s eyes. Damn; he had not meant to scare the other male. He was already screwing this up and he had barely done a thing.

“D-David?” the teen stuttered out while furiously scrubbing at his face with his vest sleeve. “Umm, I-I was just… how’re you feeling?”

Of course. Out of everything that could be said, the kid would inquire about his wellbeing. Quentin’s selflessness was really going to destroy him one of these days. David hoped otherwise.

The scrapper parked himself next to the other and answered, “I’m good. Now ‘bout you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m fine.”

David frowned at the declaration. Was the kid really trying to lie to his face? It was obvious Quentin was far from fine, the crying and shaking being telltale signs of his distress.

“I know ya ain’t fine Quentin.”

“Really I am,” the teen assured, “and this’s all ju—Wait. Are you crying?”

David suddenly remembered the tears he shed for the other male. He took a second to wipe underneath his eyes before focusing on the teen at his side. Should he answer truthfully? Was there really any other way? Honesty was likely the only thing capable of getting through to the stubborn little bugger.

David sighed but offered Quentin a smile before he confessed, “I was cryin’ for you mate.”

“F-For me?”

“Ya.”

“Why?”

“I was watchin’ you,” David admitted, his eyes noting the change in the teen’s demeanor. He disliked the look of mortification present in the other’s eyes but this had to be said. “And I ‘eard the things ya said.”

“Just now?” Quentin asked in a small voice.

“And before, with Jake.”

“You…” Quentin started, his eyes shifting left and right wildly as he pieced together the truth, “you were spying on us?”

“Not intentionally,” David defended. “I came out ‘ere ta find ya, and when I did you were with Jake. I didn’t wanna interrupt you two so I kinda… stuck ‘round behind a tree.” That probably was not the best way of describing it. Too late to take it back now though. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ave snooped.”

Quentin remained quiet, his gaze locked on the waters ahead and mouth pulled into a grim line.

“Anyways, what’s botherin’ y—”

“So you heard then?” Quentin interjected lowly. “The things we said?”

“Ya,” David confirmed, “and quit changin’ the subject.”

“I told you I’m fine,” the boy snapped at him, his cesious orbs burning holes in the scrapper’s face.

“No, ya ain’t. Christ mate, ya gotta stop doin’ this ta me.”

“Doing what?”

“Worrin’ me,” David clarified. “Just ‘cause ya say you’re fine doesn’t mean ‘at ya are. I can tell you’re not and it ‘urts. And I’m not the only one worried. Claud and Laurie are too. I’m sure the others a—”

“They don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay, really. Everything’s fine.”

“Who’re ya tryin’ ta convince?”

“You! And… And everyone else I guess,” the teen finished with uncertainty laced in his tone.

The kid appeared quite troubled, his forehead wrinkling alongside his furrowed brows.

Quentin abruptly rose to his feet, retrieved his discarded shoes and socks, and hastily put them on.

The boy moved passed the scrapper while he mumbled, “I don’t know anymore.”

“Don’t go!” David pleaded, his outburst managing to halt the teen in his tracks. “Don’t do ‘is! You can take from us Quentin. It’s okay, we want ya to.”

“Take?” Quentin questioned slowly, his head turning around to peer at the scrapper after a minute. “Take what?”

“Wha’ ya always give us,” David explained, rising to his feet as he did so. “Comfort, ‘appiness. The chance to s—”

“I already get those things from you guys,” the teen stated as he started to leave once more.

“No!” David yelled and grabbed a hold of Quentin’s wrist. Not too tightly this time but enough to keep the boy from fleeing. “We may give out ‘ose things but ya don’t accept ‘em with open arms. You brush us off every chance ya get.”

“I-I… No I don’t,” the teen muttered, his voice beginning to break.

“Ya you do,” David stressed and gently pulled the other into a tight hug, “and I’m not lettin’ ya go ‘til you get ‘at through your thick ‘ead.”

“Lemme go,” Quentin spoke quietly.

“I can’t do ‘at mate.”

“Lemme go!” the teen suddenly screamed while thrashing savagely in David’s grip. “Let me go! Let go! LET GO!”

David held firm against the other man’s struggles. He was convinced that if he indeed let go, he would never see the teen again—except in a trial of course. The scrapper did not want that, and he also did not want to see Quentin shut out their help any longer. As much as it pained him to admit, what the teen needed now was someone to get under his skin. Kind of like how Quentin unintentionally got under his skin.

The boy continued to twist and turn in his arms, bony fists striking weakly at his bare chest. David started to get a little peeved until he noted moisture wetting his skin. The scrapper heard Quentin hiccup several times which led to full blown crying, more liquid bursting from his already abused tear ducts. Through it all, he kept his grip firm and cradled the crying male as close as possible.

The kid needed this comfort. They both did.

Before long, the boy’s struggles ceased and David followed Quentin down as the teen collapsed to his knees, his hold on the other never breaking. Quentin’s hands, once pummelling against his chest, now took up residence on his back as they reciprocated David’s hold.

“It’s okay,” David spoke in a soft voice in an attempt to soothe the other. “It’s okay.”

The pitiful state of the teen brought fresh tears to his eyes, his pained noises reminiscent of David’s own from a long time past. The scrapper buried his face into the unruly mop that was the boy’s hair, the delicate brown curls tickling his face. If it were possible, Quentin tucked himself even further into his embrace, the boy literally smothering himself in the scrapper’s chest.

Only once Quentin stopped shaking did David loosen his hold. Glancing down at the boy in his arms, the scrapper was surprised to see Quentin still awake. He assumed that the other fell asleep once his breathing evened out.

“You’re such an ass,” Quentin grumbled into his muscled chest.

“Heh.” Well David was not about to argue with that.

“But... thank you,” the teen voiced through sniffles.

“You’re welcome. Just don’t do ‘at again,” David said as he ruffled Quentin’s hair. “You don’t ‘ave ta pretend everythin’ okay. We’re ‘ere for ya, whether ya want us ya ta be or not.”

“I-I know. I just didn’t wanna burden anyone. Everyone’s already dealing with so much—”

“Bullshit,” David finished. That word was so popular now.

Quentin chuckled, the sound pleasant and uplifting, and then uttered, “Yeah, bullshit.”

“But y’know,” the scrapper began, “you’re actually addin’ to ‘at bullshit when ya claim you’re fine.”

“I... I guess that’s true,” Quentin conceded, looking even more miserable than ever. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it mate. Just promise me ‘at you’ll be more open to our ‘elp. I’ll force ya if I gotta,” David said in jest, hoping the nature of his warning did not bring up bad memories from that awful trial with The Shape.

Quentin gave a smile small and stated, “I promise.”

The boy’s watery eyes seemed to widen in an instant, his cheeks swiftly flushing with colour. He then tore himself away from the scrapper and cleared his throat nervously. What was that about?

“Umm, we should probably head back huh? T-To the fire.”

“Actually,” David said as he stood up and stretched his sore limbs, “I think I’m gonna take a dip. Care ta join me?”

“Uh—”

Realising how his suggestion sounded, David quickly clarified while waving his hands frantically in the air. “N-Not like ‘at! I m-meant—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Quentin reassured, his entire face now as red as a stop light. “I know what you meant, and I’ll pass.”

“Ya sure?”

Quentin nodded, his gaze momentarily lingering on the water, and then said, “Y-Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

“Do ya know the way back?”

“I think I can manage _dad_ ,” the teen affirmed with a saucy grin. “Relax.”

“Oh for—Ya cheeky bastard. Go on ‘en, get outta ‘ere.”

David shooed Quentin away with both hands, the other male snickering as he disappeared into the trees. The scrapper shook his head playfully at the boy’s comment, thankful for the humor during such moments.

He was delighted at the progress he made with Quentin. Things seemed to be starting to look up. He was also quite proud of himself for keeping his cool. The anger was there, and it was touch and go there once or twice, but fortunately his temper did not rear its ugly head. Practice made perfect after all, and this was only the beginning of his progress—with his anger issues and with developing stronger friendships.


	14. Brutal Lessons

Several trials went by and Quentin was pleased to say that things were getting better as a whole.

“Your turn Quentin,” Laurie said.

“M’kay,” he uttered as he took one of her cards and added it to his collection.

A four of hearts? Perfect. He took the new card along with the four of clubs already in possession and placed them on the ground.

Currently he, Laurie, and David were playing a game of Old Maid. So far, he had three cards remaining: the seven of diamonds, the jack of spades, and the queen of hearts. Not many cards left in play either with David having one and Laurie having only two cards left. He hummed thoughtfully at the three cards held between his fingers. He needed to get rid of the queen this turn if he had any hope of winning.

The abrupt smack of David slapping his knee startled him. “Come on mate. Lay ‘em down.”

“Oh sorry,” Quentin apologized, being too engrossed in strategizing. “Here.”

He laid his cards flat on the dirt and David snagged a card only to immediately groan in frustration. Quentin bit his lip to disguise the little smirk that formed when he realized the scrapper had taken the queen off his hands.

It was nice to be able to have these moments, especially with a man who nearly killed him. Since their little talk by the water, he and David became close friends. They talked about their lives before being brought here: the family drama; the places they travelled to; the things they missed; the people they missed. Quentin would have never guessed that David came from a rich family or that the scrapper was actually very smart. Although he did believe the man’s temper ruined his potential career. And the amount of drinking and bar hoping the guy partook in was a little saddening. It was a real shame actually since, in his eyes, David was wasting his life. David however brushed off his pity, stating quite proudly that he was happy with his lifestyle. The declaration felt a little forced though at the time.

There were a few things left unshared. Freddy would always be a taboo topic for him while David’s parents were a taboo topic for the scrapper. Secrets were such a pain in the ass but the respect for privacy was greatly appreciated.

A clanking noise had Quentin twisting his neck to observe Jake fiddling with the contents of his latest toolbox. The man came by every once in a while to chat or bask in the warmth and light of the fire. He seemed friendlier with everyone though he still barely spoke more than what was necessary. On top of that, the saboteur and the scrapper had yet to apologize to one another. But at least their unresolved dispute was not causing too much grief at the campfire. David claimed he would get around to talking with Jake eventually and Quentin was going to hold him to that.

“And that’s game,” Laurie cheerily declared.

“But we all still have cards left,” Quentin remarked in confusion.

Laurie smirked at him and said, “It’s pretty obvious that David has the queen, and his turn just ended so there’s no way for him to get rid of it.”

David grumbled and waved the remaining queen of hearts in the air lazily, his hazel-green eyes slanted in suspicion as he glared at the babysitter. “Ya betta not ‘ave cheated lass,” he warned with a shake of his finger.

“You’re mistaking me for Ace or Nea.”

“Nea cheats?” David questioned, the prospect apparently news to the other male.

Laurie raised an eyebrow at him before bursting into giggles, her hand stifling the soft noises. Laughter truly was contagious and soon Quentin found himself joining in alongside the babysitter, his chuckles intensifying when David continued to look perplexed.

“Wha’?”

“She’s been cheating for a while now,” Laurie explained to the burly man. “She’s trying to see if anyone’ll catch her at it. So far only Meg has.”

David scrunched up his eyebrows in concentration as he slowly uttered, “So ‘at last game of—Why ‘at sneaky little minx.”

“Yeah but Meg has an unfair advantage,” Quentin pointed out as his laughter subsided.

“True,” Laurie agreed.

“And wha’ might ‘at be?”

“Well they’re together,” Laurie stated, “so Meg can usually just drag the information outta her.”

“They’re what?! NEA!” David shouted at the tag artist sitting across the fire. “You ‘n’ Meg are together?”

Nea placed her hands on her hips and replied, “You gotta problem with that stud?”

“No,” David confirmed, “I got a problem with ya not tellin’ me ‘bout it.”

“I thought you knew,” she responded with a sly grin that clearly depicted the opposite of what she said.

David simply let out an extended groan and smacked a hand to his forehead, the action drawing forth more chuckles from Quentin and Laurie.

“Hey!” Meg exclaimed and proceeded to drag Nea nearer to the three of them. “New game guys, new game.”

“Of Old Maid?” Quentin asked.

“No, no. It’s about best friends and crushes,” Meg voiced excitedly. “Okay so, out of everyone here, you have to pick one female friend, one male friend, one boyfriend, and one girlfriend. Can’t say the same person for friend and boyfriend or girlfriend though. And you don’t have to explain your picks either.”

“Umm…” What a random game. Quentin was not sure how comfortable he was with it either. It might end up making things awkward.

“Look there’s no pressure to answer or play,” Meg reassured. “It’s supposed to be just for fun.”

“D-Doesn’t that seem a little personal?” Dwight questioned as he, Claudette, and Ace approached.

“Geez, I said it’s for _fun_ Dwight. Besides it’s no secret who you’re crushing on right now.”

The leader coughed nervously and shifted his feet in the dirt all the while side eyeing a certain botanist.

“Dibs on going first,” Feng abruptly voiced from behind Laurie.

Where did she come from? In fact nearly everyone was circled around them now minus Bill, the man appearing to be resting against a far off tree. Best to let the elder sleep; that last trial of his was a real doozy. And Jake was absent too given that he was unlikely to join in on their fun.

“Okay Ace and Nea are my best friends,” the gamer pointed to each individual respectively. “Claudette would be my girlfriend and David would be my boyfriend.”

“I’m flattered lass,” David exaggerated with a hand placed atop his heart. Ace and Nea high-fived as Claudette buried her face into her bent knees. Quentin was sure the botanist was merely embarrassed or maybe just as flattered as David was.

“Well David’s my best male friend,” Ace chimed in, “on account of his superior taste in booze.”

David lightly jabbed his fist into the man’s knee and said, “Ya betta believe it.”

“Laurie’s my other best friend,” the gambler continued, “and Nea would be my girlfriend.”

“Aww,” Nea cooed, making a big spectacle of cupping her cheek with one hand and waving the other hand in a slow, downward motion. “You’re too kind.”

“I may smack you,” Meg playfully warned Ace.

Ace laughed but held his hands up defensively regardless. Then he turned to the leader and said, “And Dwight, you’d be my boyfriend.”

“Th-Th-Thank you,” Dwight uttered quietly as his face became beet red.

“I’d say my best friends are Dwight and Claudette,” Meg stated. “My boyfriend would be David and my girlfriend would be Nea.”

“Well my besties are definitely David and Feng,” Nea said seconds after the runner. “My boyfriend would be Ace and obviously my girlfriend would be Meg.”

Ace wiggled his eyebrows and tipped the rim of his cap at the tag artist. “I’m honoured,” he spoke before flinching when Meg lightly punched him in the stomach.

“Meg and Quentin are my best friends,” Laurie voiced while flashing a smile at Quentin to which he equally returned. “Claudette would be my girlfriend and Jake would be my boyfriend.”

“Oh mister broody bird himself huh?” Nea commented with a smirk. “Not bad, not bad.”

“Umm, well my best friends are Ace and Meg,” Dwight said. “My b-boyfriend would be Jake too and m-my girlfriend would b-be... umm—”

“You guys are giving me cavities,” Feng declared to the botanist and the leader as they eyed each other nervously.

“And probably everyone else ‘ere too,” David added silently.

“My best friends here are Laurie and Quentin,” Claudette uttered after shifting her gaze away from Dwight. “If I had to pick, my girlfriend would be Feng and my boyfriend would be… D-Dwight.”

Claudette placed a hand on Dwight’s knee and leaned in to quickly peck his blushing cheek, the action being so fast it was almost missed. Quentin smiled approvingly at the cute display as the others cooed or gave them the thumbs up.

Meg whirled around to face the resident saboteur and asked, “Hey Jake, did you w—”

“Best friends are Dwight and Claudette. Quentin boyfriend, and Laurie girlfriend,” Jake uttered swiftly in passing, a faint blush staining his cheeks as ventured into the trees.

“Huh. Now that was interesting,” Nea remarked.

“His answers or him answering at all?” Meg questioned.

“Both,” the tag artist clarified, “but mostly the former.”

“You’re turn!” Feng squeaked at Quentin.

He supposed if everyone else was participating he might as well too.

“W-Well,” Quentin started, his cheeks still aflame from Jake’s answers. “My best friends are Claudette and David. My girlfriend would be Laurie and my boyfriend would be Jake.”

“Is that so?” Nea remarked while eyeing the scrapper intently. When he cranked his neck to peer at David, the man was already looking elsewhere. Weird.

“Last but not least…” Meg said.

David cleared his throat and then uttered, “My best friends are probably Dwight and Nea.”

“Probably? Hurtful,” Nea whined at the scrapper.

David softly chuckled even as the tag artist went to smack at his arm. “My girlfriend would be Feng and my—”

The all-too-familiar chilly sensation of the Entity’s fog broke Quentin’s focus along with David’s answer. Quentin saw that this next trial was going to consist of himself, David, Feng, and Dwight.

“Quickly, answer the question!” Meg all but demanded.

“M-My boyfriend would be… I’ll tell you later.”

Quentin witnessed Meg scoff, Ace boo loudly and Nea sticking out her tongue at the burly male before the four of them inevitably disappeared into the dark mist. He was a touch disappointed at not being David's best male friend but he did not let it get to him. He did, however, curiously wonder about the scrapper’s top boyfriend pick. He could always ask David about it later assuming the others did not beat him to it.

\--------------------

Quentin cringed at the sight of abandoned hallways and grungy hospital equipment. This place was like a maze and it reminded him of all the gruesome injuries he had obtained in his lifetime.

Worst of all, the killer was Freddy. He knew immediately from the ashen leaves flittering through the air. Quentin sighed tiredly. He supposed it was inevitable to be forced into a trial with the man. And better here than at the preschool. Fuck that place.

Sucking in a breath, Quentin went in search of a generator. He needed to wake himself up quickly given that the bastard somehow always knew where they were in the dream world.

A sudden touch to his shoulders had him jumping out of his skin.

“Looking for me?” Freddy purred in his ear. No fucking way; it was way too soon. Did he spawn right beside the guy?

The killer attempted to tug him backwards but he was not having any of it. Acting quickly, Quentin elbowed Krueger in the gut and proceeded to flee, his vest being yanked off of him in the process. Rounding a corner, he crouched low behind a pallet and waited for approaching footsteps.

Once the killer was underneath, Quentin slammed the pallet down over Freddy’s head. Standing tall, he pointed a firm finger at the killer and shouted, “Leave me the fuck alone!”

He raced off again, his ears picking up the telltale sound of wood splintering and ominous cackling from behind. He may need more distance if Freddy was going to tunnel him. But at least this way the man was ignoring his friends while they hopefully repaired the generators.

Two rooms and one window later, he was convinced the killer had given up on him since no footsteps or chuckles were heard in his immediate vicinity. Nevertheless, Quentin remained on his guard. Just because the bastard was not around anymore did not mean he was in the clear. He could still be easily tracked; hence, he needed to wake up. Pronto.

A brief glance around the new room revealed no generator to aid with such a task. Only peeling, crusty paint and dirty, tattered beds with dried blood strewn all over the place. Quentin really hated this place. Exiting the room, he quickly spotted a much needed generator down the hall.

“Gotcha!” Freddy whispered as two leathery hands suddenly appeared in Quentin’s peripheral vision, one hand securing his arms to his torso and the other covering his mouth.

Panicked, Quentin screamed in fright, the noise muffled by the killer’s filthy palm. He kicked his feet in the air and squirmed savagely as Freddy began carrying him off. What the hell was going on? What was Freddy planning this time? He was not keen on finding out.

Quentin continued to struggle but Freddy’s grip was surprisingly strong this time around. The killer dragged him through the hallway before veering into the main medical office. Then down the stairwell to the right. Oh no; not the basement. If someone were to stumble upon him down here, and Freddy decided to linger, then they would surely be hooked as well. He could really use some of Ace’s luck right about now.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Quentin released a grunt when Freddy threw him at the base of the four hooks. He made to stand only to have his wrists grasped in a vice. The man hoisted him up by said wrists, maneuvered one of his palms over the backside of the other, and jammed them through the sharp hook. He squeezed his eyelids shut and yelled in agony as the initial pain registered. The puncture wounds burned as blood began to streak down his wrists and forearms. There was another noise, something else being shoved through the metal hook, but he hardly noticed over the sound of his cries. The balls of his sneaker-clad feet scraped against the grimy floor but found little purchase. When his feet were standing as steadily as they possibly could, he tried to slide his hands up and off but a chunk of wood blocked his path. Probably a remnant of the pallet Freddy destroyed.

Growling in annoyance, he shifted a glare towards the dream demon only to frown in confusion. He could still see the man yet the hook always woke him up. Maybe it did not work when they were hooked by the hands? Such bullshit. Wait, did this also mean he could not be sacrificed? If so, this was not good.

He groaned and then shakily asked, “What’re you doing?”

“I just wanted to spend some quality time with my boy.”

“I’m not yours!” Quentin spat, his teeth instantly clenching as his swaying caused more pain. “Now lemme down from here!”

“Soon, soon,” Freddy said, his mouth forming into a grotesque smile. “After I hunt down your other friends.”

His eyes widened in horror and he uttered, “No—”

“Can’t have them interfering… again,” Freddy finished with a snippy tone.

“You bastard! Don’t you da—”

The killed then socked him hard in the stomach, the harsh blow knocking the wind out of him. As Quentin coughed up bits of saliva and struggled for breath, Freddy started shredding his T-shirt from his body, the bastard humming a familiar childlike tune all the while. Miraculously the man’s slashes failed to cut his skin or the thin cord hanging from his neck, the latter being something he was ever grateful for. He could not afford to lose his precious necklace. The man placed three strips of fabric over his forearm, each strip lying over top of one another, and compressed the remaining clump in a sizeable ball.

“Open wide,” Freddy sang to which Quentin naturally pursed his lips shut and shook his head. Like hell he was going to simply go along with all of this.

Not at all vexed by his defiance, Freddy merely took a hold of his groin with his free hand and squeezed. The ear-piercing scream that erupted from his mouth was quickly silenced by the wad of cloth being shoved inside. He attempted to spit it out but a hand slapping over his mouth prevented him from doing so. He whipped his head from side-to-side in an effort to dislodge the mangled hand only for it to leave of its own accord and the strips of cloth to take its place. The end pieces were tied behind his head, the knots snagging a few of his curly locks in the process. Once finished, Freddy stepped back to admire his work with a grin.

“There. Much better. I hate having to do this to you Quen,” Freddy said while patting his cheek in a mock gesture of affection, “but you’ve left me no choice.”

Quentin brushed off the other’s offending hand and glared spitefully at the dream demon. The man held Quentin’s gaze for a time, his creepy smile never faltering, and then peered down to stare fondly at his chest.

“Oh,” Freddy muttered as his blades traced the faded scar running across his torso. “These brings back memories.”

Quentin shuddered from the feel of the cold steel against his bare skin and twisted his body away. The memory of how he acquired that scar surfaced, the ugly thing acting as a constant reminder of his own stupidity and weakness. Why was the man always so fixated on his scars? Maybe Krueger knew how much he despised the awful things, drawing attention to them to keep the memories attached to it alive. Or perhaps the sick fuck simply enjoyed watching his reaction every time.

Freddy held him in place by the hip, a couple of fingers teasingly slipping into the waistband of his jeans. The tips of the man’s knifes dug in slightly, the cuts paper thin and barely noticeable as they glided once more over the scar on his torso. A hint of moisture formed in his eyes as he unintentionally whimpered into his makeshift gag. Please God, make him stop. Please.

“Be a good boy now Quen,” Freddy playfully scolded while removing his beanie and ruffling his hair. The killer eyed him for a second longer before ascending the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

He shouted loudly for the other, his cries stifled by the balled up cloth filling his mouth. No, no, no, no, no. Not again. Why did things always turn out so badly with Freddy?

They were all going to die now because of him: because he could not navigate through this labyrinth of a map; because he got caught so easily; because he could not fight off his attacker; and because he was weak. Always weak, especially when it came to dealing with Freddy. Nothing he ever did was enough and now his friends were going to pay the price.

Tears started taking shape without his permission but he furiously blinked them away. Now was not the time for self-loathing or self-pity. He had to figure out how to get out of this.

Glancing up at the hook, he gazed thoughtfully at the piece of wood lodged on it. That had to go. He tried pushing his hands into the wood, however the force was not strong enough to budge it let alone force it off. Next, he tried using a foot to kick it but his other foot kept losing traction on the blood-slicked floor. When he lost his balance, he screamed bloody murder as his weight rested entirely on his hands.

He breathed deeply as he waited for the pain to dissipate. In and out, in and out. A few blood droplets pelted the top of his head as he contemplated his situation. What else was there to do? There had to be another way. Perhaps with a little leverage he might be able to free himself.

Hooking his legs around the base of the metal contraptions, Quentin pulled himself up, relieving the pressure on his hands momentarily. Then he carefully uncoiled one leg and proceeded to kick at the wood. The angle was awkward though, and his other leg had difficulty supporting the bulk of his weight. As such, one badly aimed kick connected with his bound hands and had him wailing in pain once more. Damn; that really hurt.

“Quentin!” a panicked voice rang out.

Lifting his head up, Quentin’s eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly at the sight of an asleep Dwight. No Dwight, he tried warning the other but his words came out only as muffled noises.

The leader ignored his head shakes and rushed in, untying the gag then moving to stand before the bound male. “W-What happened?”

“Get outta here Dwight! You can’t save me. I’m stuck.”

“But—”

“Just go!”

“No!” Dwight responded adamantly. “I’m not leaving you here, and not like this.”

“You have t—Look out!”

Dwight had zero time to react as a bladed hand slashed down his back, the impact knocking him to the floor with a yelp.

“No!” Quentin screeched, tears falling without his knowledge. “Leave him alone!”

Freddy paused to stare angrily at Quentin. The man sported a scowl for a mere moment before his miscoloured eyes lit up enthusiastically, the sinister look causing Quentin to gulp nervously. Now what?

The dream demon grasped Dwight’s ankle and dragged him backwards. Freddy then proceeded to sit on the small of the leader’s back, effectively preventing the guy from getting back up.

“Now Dwight,” Freddy started, “it’s not nice to steal things from other people.”

“G-Get off me,” the leader wheezed.

“Freddy don’t,” Quentin begged. “Leave him alone. It-It’s me you want. Just let him go.”

“We’ll play later Quen,” Freddy assured with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Class is in session now and lessons need to be taught.”

No, not Dwight. Quentin could not allow it and desperately pleaded with the killer. Instead of acknowledging him, Freddy took a hold of the leader’s left pinkie and sliced it clean off. Dwight raised his head off the floor to release a bloodcurdling scream. Quentin's lip quivered in terror as he observed Krueger admiring the severed appendage with appreciation before the thing was carelessly discarded. The remaining part of Dwight’s attached finger twitched and bled profusely, a hint of bone just visible despite all the crimson fluid spurting out. The leader took a series of rapid breaths likely in an attempt to stay conscious and avoid going in to shock.

“ _You fucking bastard!_ ” Quentin violently shouted at the dream demon. His minor hiccupping transformed into feeble sobs as he helplessly watched Dwight suffer.

Freddy hummed sweetly while glancing between his two victims. “I don’t think this lesson’s sinking in properly. What’d you think huh?” the killer questioned Dwight, tugging the leader’s head up by his dark hair.

“P-Please,” Dwight sobbed, strands of drool coating his bottom lip. “Please s-s-stop… p-please.”

“I didn’t think so,” Freddy commented with a sigh before grabbing Dwight’s injured hand once more. “Gonna have to try again I suppose.”

The dream demon then sliced off more of Dwight’s fingers—a ring finger and a thumb this time. The leader wailed throughout the whole ordeal before swiftly vomiting all over the floor, his retching so violent it dislodged his glasses. Dwight’s head then collapsed heavily into the puddle of blood and puke with a wet thud.

Freddy grumbled and tapped a single blade to his cheek, and then uttered, “Maybe I need to change up my lesson plan a bit. All kids are different and different teaching styles are essential. Right Quen?”

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Quentin roared in anguish, his cries bringing forth countless tears. This was worse than anything he had ever imagined, and he conjured up some pretty disturbing things of what Freddy might do with him. “Hurt me,” he begged quietly, “hurt me. Not him.”

“This is Dwight’s lesson, not yours. Though I suppose you’re learning by example,” Freddy added with a pleasant smile. It was sickening to look at. “Now where was I?”

The killer then pressed the tips of his blades into the leader’s lower back, the pressure slowly increasing. Dwight cried out the entire time, his voice lowering with every inch that sunk into his flesh until the leader abruptly went silent. Quentin’s sobs continued, the salty liquid thoroughly drenching his cheeks and stinging his eyes. He was unable to watch this any longer, his own stomach threatening to upchuck.

Like a coward, he shut his watery orbs and turned away while he muttered, “I’m so sorry Dwight. I’m so sorry.”

The sound of footfalls drew closer and Quentin flinched when something warm and slick touched his face.

“What’s the matter Quentin?” Freddy cooed while stroking his cheekbone, his fingers smearing blood in their wake. “Didn’t you enjoy my lesson?”

“Y-You monster,” Quentin mumbled in a broken voice, too emotionally exhausted to shake off the hand cupping his face. “How could you?”

“Shh,” Freddy voiced as he wiped away Quentin’s tears with his thumb. “I had to Quentin. You know that.” The killer then turned his back on him to eye the fallen leader once more. “Naughty children need to be punished.”

Now there was a statement he had not heard in years. His father used to say something very similar to him when he misbehaved as a child. This fucking asshole.

Filled with unbridled rage, Quentin hooked his legs around Krueger’s neck and squeezed with all his might. The motion put more stress on his hands but he ignored the brutal stinging sensation this time. The fucker may not be able to die, but he could still feel pain in the trials. Moreover, perhaps it was possible to incapacitate the man. They never tried before on account of how powerful the killers were. Now though, all that mattered to him was getting revenge.

Freddy choked, struggling against his crushing hold until the killer plunged his claws into his leg and twisted them. The sudden, intense pain made Quentin cry out and loosen his grip on the other. Krueger whipped around to face him, looking incredibly angered and snarling like a wild animal. Good; bastard deserved that and so much more.

The killer made to swing until a loud horn blaring caused his arm to freeze mid-strike. Quentin heard the man growl and then suddenly his footsteps were retreating, and he had a pretty good idea where the bastard was heading.

“Krueger,” he weakly croaked as he raised his head to watch Freddy leave, his vision tunneling from blood loss. “We... We’re not... done yet.”

The killer paid him no heed or simply did not hear him as he disappeared from the room.

“D-Dwight,” he mumbled to the leader on the floor. No response. Quentin honestly did not even have the strength to cry anymore.

Dwight was probably dead. He had to be, and it was a small mercy.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Quentin sluggishly perked up at the sound of David’s voice. David, unfortunately asleep as well, now stood at the bottom of the stairwell, a hand held up to his mouth and nose as his eyes surveyed the gory scene in front of him. “Quen—”

“D-Dwight,” he spoke, his voice hoarse from the screaming and crying. “I-Is he…”

The scrapper was at Dwight’s side in seconds, checking the man for any signs of life. After a moment, he shook he head sadly and muttered, “Dead.”

David then moved over to Quentin and attempted to pull him off the hook. Quentin yelped when the puncture holes scraped against the splintered wood.

“Shite!” David cursed and muttered a quick apology for not seeing the chunk of wood there. The scrapper grunted in exertion as he yanked the wood messily off the sharp steel in pieces.

Once completely removed, the scrapper gently tugged him off the contraption and muttered, “I gotcha mate.”

David's brows furrowed in distress as the man regarded his bare chest. Quentin subconsciously curled in on himself when David refused to look away. He was not fond of people staring at his scars.

The scrapper lowered him into a sitting position and immediately attended to Quentin’s injuries, focusing first on his thigh wound and then on his hands. Quentin placed his arms protectively over his chest as he stared at Dwight, his eyes taking in every gruesome detail: the blood-soaked clothes; the cuts; the severed fingers; and the bodily fluids staining the already disgusting floor. This was his fault.

“Don’t look,” David uttered softly, the man’s eyes appearing unsettled when he locked his gaze with Quentin. “He… He’s at the fire now.”

He knew David was trying to reassure him but the statement did little to assuage the sickening feeling in his gut. In fact the nausea was building up beyond its threshold now, the smell of bile and iron not helping matters any. He gagged and covered his mouth to stop something from coming up.

“Shite. Okay, d-don’t puke. ‘ere,” David said as the man shrugged off his jacket and helped Quentin into it. The scrapper then attempted to lift Quentin into his arms but the teen shuffled back.

“I-I’m okay,” Quentin stated albeit weakly. “I can walk on my own.”

“I don’t think s—”

“David,” he stated sternly, “please.”

Quentin at least wanted to be able to do this much. He was nothing but a burden this trial and his teammate was tortured and killed because of that fact. Walking would act like some kind of penance for the trouble he caused everyone. Besides the pain would distract him from his thoughts.

Maybe it was his words or just the look in his eyes, but the scrapper eventually sighed dejectedly.

“No,” David eventually said and forcibly hoisted Quentin into his arms bridal style. Surprised by the other’s actions, he went to argue with the brawler but David cut him off. “Ya promised me you’d accept our ‘elp. So I’m helpin’ whether ya like it or not.”

“But I…” he trailed off silently as a powerful wave of wooziness hit him. What was the point in fighting this? He knew the scrapper was going to do as he pleased anyways.

Sighing tiredly, he wrapped David’s jacket tighter around his shoulders, allowing the warmth to heat his numb body and whispered, “Okay.”

He just wanted this horrible trial to end.

“Gate’s open down the ‘all,” David informed him as he carried Quentin out of the basement. “Feng’s runnin’ the bastard ‘round the rooms.”

“Is she—”

“Relax mate,” David interrupted, “she’ll meet us ‘ere.”

Quentin went to speak once again but his voice gave out on him. He barely had the strength to do anything let alone save someone from the killer. Or get someone else killed in his case. He was never going to forgive himself for what transpired in that basement.

“Run guys!” Feng shouted from up ahead, her hand waving them over to their left. “He’s coming!”

“Christ,” David swore and started to sprint through the administration section to the exit.

Feng reached the gate first and breached the misty barrier before disappearing into the darkness. David made it to the barrier with Quentin shortly after.

“They can’t save you.”

The voice made David halt in his stride and turn around to face the dream demon.

“No one can,” Freddy declared as if it were some sort of promise, the statement clearly meant for Quentin. “You’ll always belong to me.”

Quentin felt his glare slacken as he eyed the monster standing nearby, the other’s words having some effect on him.

David, however, apparently believed otherwise as he confidently uttered, “You’re wrong.”

Without further delay, the brawler ran through the threshold, the fog wrapping around the two of them snuggly like a security blanket. Yet Quentin had only a mind for the words David spoke to Freddy. He liked to believe it was true, that he was his own person—free from his worst nightmare. But, deep down, he knew it was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry Dwight.


	15. The Intricacies Of Friendship

“David please,” Quentin pleaded with him for what felt like the thousandth time, “I can walk on my own.”

David readjusted his hold on the teen when the other made to leap out of his arms and replied, “No ya can’t.”

Admittedly his patience was running a little thin with the boy but the scrapper was determined to carry Quentin all the way to the campfire. Besides, if he did set the teen down, Quentin was probably going to collapse from the lack of blood in his body.

“I told you I ca—”

“I’m not lettin’ ya down!” David abruptly snapped, his feet scrapping to a halt and his eyes heatedly glaring at the injured male. “So shut yer bloody mouth!”

Quentin held David’s intense gaze, a small glare of his own forming. The scrapper persisted, staring the teen down with all the strength he could muster. He was not about to allow Quentin to fight him over this anymore; the boy _needed_ his help. A moment passed, and then Quentin eventually groaned and broke eye contact, an angry frown plastered on his face.

David released a breath through his nostrils and continued his trek towards the fire. He knew the boy was stubborn but this was overkill. How was Quentin ever supposed to accept their help if he kept acting like this? He understood that these things took time. Just like his painstakingly slow progress to control his temper, or Jake’s reluctance to open up to other people. But it was driving him crazy.

A tiny whimper from Quentin had him peering down at the teen in his arms. The boy was shifting away from his hands as if he was in pain. David internally cursed, not having realised that his grip on the other male had tightened to such an extent and immediately loosened it. Calm down mate, his mind gently soothed. Quentin was already hurting enough and he certainly did not wish to add to it.

Speaking of hurting, David was still curious as to what went on last trial between Dwight, Quentin, and The Nightmare. Why was Dwight mutilated? Why was Quentin strung up and seemingly put on display? Why was The Nightmare easily dismissive of everyone else except for the tired teenager? He wanted to know more. No, scratch that. He _needed_ to know more. There was something strange going on that the scrapper was not seeing.

“So wha’ ‘appened ta you ‘n’ Dwight back ‘ere?”

Quentin gave him a deadpanned look and grumbled, “Thought I was supposed to shut my mouth.”

So they were going to repeat this pointless dance again. Terrific. “Your ignorin’ the question.”

“I don’t wanna talk ab—”

“Too bad,” David interrupted, “now start talkin’.”

Quentin sighed and shut his eyes for a minute, his brows furrowing in what appeared to be discomfort. “Freddy was still pissed about the pumpkin,” the teen informed the scrapper, his bandaged hands fidgeting in his lap while his cesious eyes glistened with moisture. “He wanted to teach me a lesson but Dwight intervened and Freddy decided to hurt him instead.”

“Is ‘at so?”

Quentin hummed in affirmation, but his eyes told David a different story. While the other's explanation seemed plausible, David found it more likely that the teen was lying or not revealing the entire truth. Time to do a little digging.

“I dunno,” the scrapper started, dispelling the silence between them. “Things he did seemed a tad excessive over a wee squash.”

Quentin shrugged as best he could in his arms and uttered, “Yeah well… Freddy holds grudges.”

“And given ‘at ya both share ‘istory,” David continued, “I’d assume he’d probably ‘ave a big grudge against you.”

“What’re you getting at David?” the boy inquired, his tired tone of voice matching his general fatigue.

“I think it’s time ya told me ‘bout—”

“Dwight!” Quentin abruptly yelled and flipped out of David’s arms, his movement too abrupt to stop.

They had arrived at the campfire and David had not even noticed, the man having been too engrossed in their pathetic excuse of a conversation. The scrapper watched as Quentin hobbled speedily over to their leader and dropped to his knees in front of Dwight. As David approached the leader as well, he was met with an unsettling sight.

Dwight sat eerily still on a log, his dull eyes staring straight ahead of him as if he were in some sort of trance. Though he no longer possessed any injuries or blood-soaked clothes, and all ten of his fingers were accounted for, one thing was for certain: Dwight did not look well.

Claudette and Jake sat by the leader’s side while Nea, Feng, and Laurie stood behind them, each individual—minus Dwight—sporting a different expression of concern. The scene almost reminded David of something he witnessed in a hospital once, friends and family finding out their beloved grandfather had permanent brain damage and would never be the same again.

“Dwight?” Quentin muttered, one of his bandaged hands touching Dwight’s knee. When the leader failed to respond, the boy lowered his chin into his neck.

“I’m so sorry Dwight. I-I’m so so sorry!” the boy whined as he began to sob once more, his forehead resting on the leader’s kneecap. David hated seeing Dwight look so unresponsive and even more so hated watching Quentin helplessly cry again. It was always something around here.

“So what happened?” Feng whispered to him, her figure suddenly materializing beside him.

“Is he okay?” David nervously asked, his head gesturing to a quiet Dwight.

The gamer frowned at him and then cranked her neck to gaze sadly at the leader. “I... I don’t know. He hasn’t said a word,” Feng confessed while folding her arms across her chest. “According to Claudette, he got here, sat down, and just… stared.”

“When I found ‘im, his body,” David hesitated to say, “it looked like he’d been... “

“Been what?” Feng questioned, her voice barely concealing the ounce of fear present. The others close by—Nea, Claudette, Jake, and Laurie—were listening intently to him now. David sighed, feeling extremely uncomfortable over what he was about to say. This was not going to be pleasant.

“Like he‘d been tortured,” David finally voiced. Quentin sobbed even harder when he said it aloud.

“T-Tortured?” Claudette asked in a small voice. He noiselessly nodded and the botanist cupped her hands over her mouth in shock as tears fell from her coffee-coloured orbs.

“H-He umm, he ‘ad s-some of ‘is f-f-fingers cut off a-and... ” David trailed off, his stomach flipping while he recalled the gruesome memory. He tried to finish but no further words made it out. He just could not do it.

David had to shift his gaze away from Claudette, the sight of the botanist crying as well was too unbearable to watch. But she was not the only one. Feng and Nea both had angry tears streaking down their cheeks. Laurie had a few tear droplets escape from the corners of her eyes but she quickly turned her face away to compose herself. Even Jake had a hint of moisture accumulating in his dark orbs, his forehead creased and hands clenched tightly in his lap.

“D-Dwight please,” Quentin blubbered and wrapped his arms around the leader’s shoulders. “I’m so s-sorry I couldn’t help you. I-I—”

David was just as stunned as Quentin and everyone else when Dwight slowly returned the teen’s embrace. He continued to stare blankly ahead of him, his eyes as dull as cobblestone, and very softly uttered, “It’s okay.”

David saw Quentin squeeze the leader tighter, his shoulders shaking a little less than before.

“I’m just a little tired,” Dwight mumbled in the same tone of voice. “Just a little tired.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep then,” Quentin suggested, releasing his hold on Dwight to peer at the man’s face. “I-It might help.”

“Sleep?” Dwight questioned, the word coming out monotone. “Yeah. Sleep. I should get some sleep,” Dwight mindlessly agreed and proceeded to rise to his feet. Carefully stepping over the log, Dwight walked to the treeline and disappeared into the surrounding woods.

Claudette twisted her neck between them and Dwight before she declared, “I think I should stay near Dwight’s side. Make sure he’s actually gonna sleep.”

David, along with the others, nodded in quiet understanding and watched as the botanist moved to follow Dwight.

Once Dwight and Claudette were both out of range, Nea angrily shouted, “Why the hell were his fingers cut off?! That’s fucking sick!”

“Quentin said Dwight got in The Nightmare’s way,” David claimed. “Guess the mangled cunt was still pissy ‘bout the pumpkin incident. The guy was doin’ somethin’ to Quentin but decided to go after Dwight instead.”

“Fucking bastard,” Nea seethed in rage.

“Despicable,” Jake muttered under his breath and Laurie grimly nodded along with his response.

Feng scoffed and said, “And all for a pumpkin? Bullshit.”

“What’d he do to Quentin?” Jake inquired before the gamer's comment was answered.

“Bastard ‘ad ‘im strung up like some bloody—“

“Shut up!” Quentin shouted, his form rising and moving closer to their small circle. “It doesn’t matter o—”

“Oh yes it does cutie,” the tag artist argued, shutting down whatever denial the boy was about to spew. “Whatever’s going on between you and that-that-that psycho affects us.”

“What’d you mean? Is he hurting you guys? What has he done?” Quentin frantically demanded, each question spoken in rapid succession.

“Besides the usual slash and hook,” Feng said slowly with a touch of suspicion in her tone, “nothing much.”

“A perverted comment every once in a while,” Laurie admitted.

“Or several taunts,” Jake added.

David placed a firm hand on Quentin’s shoulder and asked, “What’re ya really wantin’ ta know?”

Quentin flinched out of his hold and quickly replied, “Nothing.”

The teen’s hurried response coupled with his bizarre behaviour was beginning to raise warning flags in David’s brain. From a brief glance among his fellow survivors, he was not alone in his wariness. What exactly was the boy hiding about himself? About Krueger?

David intended to ask such a question when he noticed Quentin moving towards the edge of the campground. Little bugger was running away again.

“Oh no ya don’t,” David said while grabbing at the retreating teen. He coiled a meaty hand around each of Quentin’s biceps, his grip wrinkling the fabric of his jacket hanging loosely from the boy's shoulders. David leaned into Quentin’s startled face and all but screamed, “Why’re you bein’ like this? Yer actin’ like a brat—”

With a snarl, Quentin held his ground and spat, “I thought I told you not to call me a brat.”

He saw Nea and Jake approach from the corner of his eye but paid them no mind. “David don—”

“I told you we can’t ‘elp ya if you keep shuttin’ us out!” David yelled, effectively cutting off the tag artist. “Does yer promise to me mean nothin’?!”

“You…” the teen tried, his vision lowering to the ground below. “You can’t help me with this.”

“And what’s ‘at supposed ta mean?”

Quentin remained silent, his slanted gaze locking on dirt and pebbles as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

David gritted his teeth in further annoyance, his hands unconsciously tightening his bruising hold on the boy. He felt a boiling heat manifest in his gut, his skin burning as his temper took over. The scrapper shook Quentin hard and roared, “Wha’ the fuck’s—”

“David stop!” Feng cried.

“—‘at supposed ta _mean?!_ ”

“Maybe I nearly killed him once before!” Quentin screeched, his face reddening in anger as he stared into the scrapper’s eyes. David actually flinched at the fierce hatred present in the other’s watery orbs. It was the same piercing gaze from when he first met Quentin in the basement of Badham Preschool. Though now he had a better view of it. The boy looked positively menacing—feral even—and, if David did not know him, he might almost mistake Quentin for one of the killers.

“And maybe I’m partially responsible for him being trapped here,” the boy raged quietly. “And maybe he fucking hates me for that! _IS THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!_ ”

Quietness fell over their little circle of survivors. David, for all his anger towards Quentin at the moment, was afraid of the boy. He hardly even recognised the teen right now.

“It’s none of your damn business!”

Quentin’s voice forced David out of his stunned silence.

“Christ love!” David spat. “Why do ya ‘ave ta be so bloody stubborn?!”

“Well why do you have to be such a jackass?!”

David growled and raised a fist in retaliation but stopped himself short of delivering the blow. He wanted to pummel the idiot, beat the teen’s face in until he felt better. But he would regret it just like before, and hate himself once again. More than that though, he would not allow his temper to mindlessly control him. He was better than that now.

Releasing an extended breath, the scrapper slowly lowered his clenched fist to his side. He allowed Quentin to break free from his hold and the boy promptly put some distance between them. Quentin glared at him for a minute, the intensity of it seemingly lessening by the second. Then the teen immediately sprinted into the treeline without looking back. David went to pursue Quentin, but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him. Glancing back, he realised Jake was the one preventing him from leaving, the saboteur sporting a grim frown.

“Don’t,” Jake simply said.

“We can’t j—”

“David no,” Laurie spoke. “You’re not in any condition to go after him right now. Besides, he needs some time to himself.”

Now that added more fuel to his temperamental fire. “You ‘ave no idea wha’ he needs lass.”

“You’re wrong,” Laurie uttered firmly, her robin egg blue eyes displaying an imposing fire to them.

“Am I now?”

“We share something in common,” the babysitter stated, not just addressing him but everyone else there as well. “Something that the rest of you will never understand.”

“And ‘at is?” David curiously inquired.

“We were both dragged into this world with killers we share a connection with. With killers that’re obsessed with us. With killers that have ruined our lives!” Laurie screamed, the woman branching away from her normally calm demeanor.

David’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but mostly confusion. Something did not add up. “What’d ya mean by ‘ruined?’” he voiced softly, the scrapper both wanting and dreading the babysitter’s response.

Laurie took a moment to sigh and then said, “It’s not my place to say, and it’s our choice whether we tell you or not. As our friends, you should respect that! You should understand our feelings about this, how hard this all is!”

Then, without another word or further explanation, Laurie stormed off into the forest.

“Laurie!” Nea shouted after the young woman but the babysitter did not return.

It was the first time the scrapper had ever seen Laurie lash out like that, and her words struck several sensitive nerves. David never really considered their predicaments closely did he? Laurie held her own well enough during trials, and so too did Quentin when he was not playing the sacrificial lamb. Additionally, both Quentin and Laurie never alluded to having trouble facing Krueger or Myers respectively. Though now, thanks to his previous trial, he knew those problems were there—they had always existed. Those problems just were not discussed, the reality of their woes hidden behind a shroud of secrets and reassurances. They had to be suffering a great deal more than the rest of them, especially when they were paired with their respective killers. It was a fair bit to stomach.

The others did not seem terribly angry with him for provoking such an outburst from the babysitter. In fact, they were mostly quiet and staring awkwardly amongst one another. He figured Laurie’s little speech must have affected them too.

“Hey guys!” David heard Meg yell as she entered the campground with Ace and Bill in toe. “We’re back!”

“Next time I’ll go alone,” Bill grumbled under his breath. “That was unnecessary.”

Meg whipped around to face the elder and thrusted a finger under his nose, and then said, “It was absolutely necessary. You reeked and you needed a bath.”

“Young lady, I’m perfectly capable of bathing myself,” Bill declared.

“Of that there’s no doubt,” Ace agreed, “but you never seem to do it. And the lady just wanted to ensure that you did.”

At the veteran’s deadpanned expression, the gambler uttered, “Or that I ensured you did and reported the success back to her. Same difference. Besides, it’s the one and only time you don’t stink of cigarettes.”

Bill shook his head and scoffed. When the elder locked eyes with David and the others standing in a solemn circle by the fire, Bill raised a single eyebrow and asked, “Something happen?”

“B-Bad trial mate,” David vaguely explained, his voice sounding a little dead to his ears.

“Another one?” Meg whined. “That’s—Wait! Are you crying?” The runner rushed over to Nea, the tag artist turning her head away slightly when Meg cradled her face.

“What happened babe?” Meg whispered to Nea.

“What happened,” Nea began, her tone slightly snappish, “is that our friends got hurt because we’re the biggest idiots and jerks ever!”

“Now what’re you talking about sweetness?” Ace asked the tag artist. “Which friends?”

Feng uncrossed her arms, moved to sit on the spot previously occupied by Dwight, and waved them over. “I’ll tell you but you better get comfy. It’s not gonna be pretty.”

The newly arrived trio shared a look of confusion before gathering around the gamer. Meg tried tugging Nea along with her but the tag artist refused, claiming that she was depressed enough as it was.

David tuned out of their conversation, his attention focusing on his behaviour up until now. He slowly raised his hands to his face to glare hatefully at his palms like they committed some sort of heinous crime. Which they did, but he never meant for it to happen. Why was he unable to control it?

“You surprised me,” Jake suddenly muttered to him.

David side-eyed the saboteur and offered, “Huh?”

“I never thought you’d be capable of holding yourself back,” Jake said.

Holding himself back? What was the saboteur talking about? “I dunno wha’ y—”

“I didn’t appreciate you grabbing Quentin the way you did,” the saboteur said as a subtle glare formed, his orbs glinting with hidden emotion. “But at least you didn’t go beyond that.”

“I neva meant ta ‘urt ‘im,” David muttered slowly, the words holding more meaning for him than ever. “Not now, and not before.”

“I know… I was wrong about you,” Jake declared while clapping him on the shoulder and then retreating into the treeline where Laurie disappeared through earlier.

David was shocked to hear such a comment directed at him, especially from their resident survivalist. He thought he had destroyed their trust once again, his brash actions setting his progress back to zero. Yet, surprisingly, some good came out of all this.

He did indeed control himself. Partially. David still had a long road ahead of him but it was a fraction of a step forward in the right direction. He had to have that talk with Jake sometime soon too though preferable when everything returned to a relative normal around here. Question was when said relative normal would return? The fights were piling up and David admitted he was partly to blame for that, his desire to acquire answers and results going overboard.

Back in Manchester, get enough drinks into someone and they would spill their guts before dawn. Without the booze however, it was not that simple. It took time similar to how building strong friendships took time. His eyes widened in realisation at the thought. He was reverting back to his old, forceful self. By forcing Quentin to reveal his secrets he was forcing the boy to change and, in turn, forcing the creation of a negative friendship. Why had he not seen this before? How could he be so stupid?

The scrapper collapsed on a different log and rubbed at his forehead in frustration. His inner turmoil was eating away at him. He never had to try this hard to make friends in the past. Bar mates, his mind corrected for him. Fine, bar mates. Thinking now, he was beginning to understand what Laurie was talking about. He was making this thing more about him than about Quentin. He wished to aid the boy, that was a given, but he also had an ulterior motive. One that even he never knew existed. He was inadvertently trying to strengthen their friendship using bad habits.

A drink or two between mates broke tension and ensured for a smashing good time. Lots of laughs and mutual bonding through the use of alcohol. There was no understanding though, no commitment to anything being said. It was all for the sake of getting drunk and living in the moment. Anything of value that was said was left at the bar top or buried in the backs of their minds due to a lack of remembrance. David did not understand Laurie’s or Quentin’s feelings because he was disregarding them. Perhaps not completely, but enough to strain the relationships. Instead of casting every emotional tidbit aside, he needed to pay more attention. Maybe they all should be paying more attention to each other’s feelings.

David wanted to help Quentin, Laurie too, but now he realised he had been going about it the wrong way. He still intended to get under Quentin’s skin, but he was going to wait for the boy’s permission to do so. More specifically, he was going to wait for Quentin to open up to him. He had to trust that Quentin would come to him when he was ready to talk. And when the boy eventually would, he was going to be there for him. But patience was not one of his virtues. He thought he had been patient enough by now, but clearly he had not. Now he had gone and hurt Quentin and probably hurt Laurie too. Why did he always fuck things up?

A creaking noise beside him startled David from his musings as he observed Nea sitting down beside him.

“That was a lot to take in huh?” she shakily asked.

“Ya,” David agreed after he gulped down an oversized thump in his throat. “It was.”

“I’ll definitely be apologizing to Laurie later on,” Nea said.

“Same ‘ere,” David uttered. He would have to apologize to Quentin again too. “I’ll be thankin’ ‘er as well.”

“Why’s that?”

David smirked before he stated, “Finally realised somethin’ important.”

“Oh really? I’m so proud of you stud,” the tag artist cooed as she proceeded to pinch his cheek in a teasing fashion.

“Very funny lass,” he replied while lightly batting away her hand. “Actually, she made me realise ‘at friendships are tough to maintain and ‘at ya need to really pay attention to make ‘em work.”

Nea hummed in thought and then mumbled, “You’re right about that.”

A moment of silence ensued, the duo simply enjoying the comfort and safety of the fire in peace.

“You know,” Nea abruptly began, a wide smile appearing on her lips. “I was right.”

David cocked an eyebrow at her and responded, “Right ‘bout wha’?”

“You liking sleepy cutie Quentin.”

This again? “I told you ‘ere’s noth—”

“You called him ‘love’ David,” Nea stated as a matter-of-factly.

David froze mid-thought at that declaration. Did he? Yes, he did. At the end of their little screaming fight. He had said the word love, and he could scarcely believe it.

“So do you?”

David pondered for a moment, his thoughts drifting to the tired teenager in question. Little details flitted through his mind, the images vibrant and crystal-clear. The way Quentin smiled when he won a card game or when the boy listened to him regale his many bar brawls. The way Quentin cried when the teen felt powerless, the action causing him pain simply from watching the other. The way Quentin blushed when Nea called him cutie or when Feng tapped his nose, the sight making the scrapper chuckle as a warmth spread through his chest. The way Quentin laughed when he wore Ace’s cap while the gambler wore the teen’s beanie, their brief style changes drawing snickers or boos from everyone. The way his cesious eyes practically glowed when he tended to an injured friend, the intensity of it making David go a little weak in the knees. His own compulsive need to save the boy from killers and from himself, more so than any of his other friends here. Damn.

David realised that he did indeed like the boy, the information shocking the hell out of him. Yet he was only able to recollect one time when he actually went out of his way to aid Quentin emotionally. It was that tender moment they had by the pond, the both of them sharing in a tear-filled embrace. And even that was more physical than emotional. What an awful friend he was, but that was all going to change.

Eventually David nodded, ducking his head down when he felt a faint heat dusting his cheeks.

“You gonna tell him?” Nea softly asked, her delicate hand taking up residence on his knee and her cheek smooshing into his shoulder.

If he truly wished to tell Quentin, he had to try harder as a friend first. Still, the thought of something more developing between them was not unwelcome either. David glanced at the sky, observing the solid shade of black with a lazy smile grazing his lips, and then said, “Maybe.”


	16. Dreams And Realities | Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sensitive sexual content. You have been warned!

Quentin ran for a time before his momentum became sluggish. As his vision tunneled, he was forced to stop, a weak hand bracing itself on a knobby tree trunk for support. While phantom pain still lingered in his hands and thigh, the wounds were now closed so perhaps it was the blood loss which hampered his stride. Grumbling at his non-existent luck, Quentin placed his forehead on the trunk, his skin protesting against the harsh texture of the scratchy bark.

His thoughts kept returning to the conversation which led to his fleeing: the accusations, the shouting, and the reveal he had hoped to avoid. Granted he had only revealed a portion of critical information but he was furious with himself all the same. And not just with himself, but with David as well.

Quentin knew the scrapper was persistent, similar to Meg and Feng, but he never thought the man might attack him for withholding sensitive information. Well almost. The threat was there but David did not follow through with it. And the scrapper had the gall to talk about promises when David nearly broke his own.

A hand subconsciously rose to gently coil around his left bicep, the fabric of David’s jacket rumpling in the process. Quentin instantly winced in discomfort and made to pull his hand away only for his fingers to hover hesitantly over the jacket sleeve. Scrunching up his face in irritation, he quickly removed the offending article of clothing and tossed it to the ground. Quentin then slid down the base of the tree, bare back painfully scraping against the wood. But that pain was the perfect distraction he needed right now to calm him down and keep him awake.

Winding his arms around his bent knees, he nestled his face into them as he eyed the discarded jacket with disdain. Fuck David and his brutish ways. He had no appreciation or respect for the scrapper right now, David literally twisting his arm for whatever information the man wished to know. Quentin huffed tiredly, the action doing little to subdue his blazing thoughts.

He knew that every friendship had its negatives. His friendship with Jesse for instance was especially complicated at times when the guy shut down his opinions. Jesse was a self-absorbed extrovert for the most part, full of himself, and believed his ideas to be worth more than others. It was this very quality that prevented him from understanding the true reason behind Kris dumping him. Jesse never realised that his behaviour demonstrated a lack of care for those around him. Kris felt as though she was not being heard or properly appreciated; hence, she looked elsewhere.

Despite his large ego, Jesse was still a good friend but he and Quentin did have their fair share of arguments. Although they never outright brawled with each other, the both of them being non-combative types. Now there was the rare aggressive blow exchanged but most of their problems led only to verbal confrontation. It was nothing like what he and David were going through.

Quentin honestly liked having David as a friend even if he was not the other’s top pick for best male friend. However, what David forced out of him earlier on was a serious violation of his faith in the scrapper. Above anything else he wanted respect from his friends, but perhaps he was being a bit too demanding with his expectations in this world. Respect was hard enough to come by in the real world though his friends there upheld it well enough. No matter how strained his friendship with Jesse got, the guy never probed him about his father or his parents’ divorce—both sore subjects for him. Or how he never interrogated Nancy for constantly bailing on him. Except when he drove Nancy to the preschool that fateful night, believing that he was going to inevitably fall asleep and die.

David on the other hand was different. While Quentin respected the scrapper’s privacy, the man clearly did not respect his. It was infuriating yet he was unable to stay completely angry at the brute. Quentin knew, deep down, that David was simply worried for him and wished to help in his own annoyingly insistent way.

However, as much as it utterly pained him to admit, Freddy was right. David could not help him. His friends here could not save him. No one could.

Regardless, Quentin was still going to save them. He had to, but he was having difficulty doing so. Though their help was appreciated, his friends constantly got in the way. What Freddy had done to David and Dwight was appalling. Witnessing their battered and bloody forms, the torture they endured, took a toll on his psyche. It might have been worse too, but Quentin tried not to think about that.

They needed to be protected from Krueger, all of them did, and he was the one to do it. Besides, he had no choice in the matter. The Entity certainly did not seem interested in putting a stop to Freddy’s wicked ways. Maybe this all-powerful-godly being did not even know what transpired in its own world. Hell, perhaps the Entity was enjoying this, feeding off of his frustrations and woes like precious water. A depraved, hungry god indeed. And a complete dick too if that were the case.

Quentin unhappily drove his elbow into the trunk behind him when a familiar chill crept up his legs. Another trial? The Entity truly hated him or secretly possessed telepathy and did not appreciate his previous thoughts about it. Quentin held his breath as the dense, black fog swallowed him whole and whisked him away to yet another blood fest.

\--------------------

Quentin was currently finishing up the final repairs on a generator in the cornfield. His clothes were thankfully returned to him upon arrival within the trial. Being shirtless was not exactly a comfort even though David went without one a fair bit, the man possessing no shame whatsoever.

Sadly his biceps were still sore from David’s bruising hold on him but he had more important things to focus on right now. The strong buzz in his skull, like tiny little insects zapping him, and the constant screams filling the air told him that it was The Doctor. One of his least favourite killers. It was impossible to hide from the electricity-wielding killer and his cackling was essentially a high-pitched version of Freddy’s own. This was going to be another deadly trial; he could see it now.

Just as the machine in front of him roared to life, a feminine shriek resounded close by. He speedily bolted away from the powered generator since he knew the killer would undoubtedly search for any lingering survivors there. Crouch walking to the edge of the cornfield, Quentin spotted a captured Meg dangling and, after a brief scan of the vicinity, he swiftly moved to pull her off of the rusty contraption.

“Thanks Quentin,” the runner said and gestured with her hand to follow her. “Let’s not heal under the hook. Sparky’s still roaming around in the field.”

Quentin followed his injured friend behind a stack of circular hay bales while he remarked, “You’re using Nea’s nicknames now?”

“What?” the runner whined in an overly dramatic fashion. “It’s a good one.”

Quentin chuckled under his breath and proceeded to staunch the bleeding around her wound.

As he began applying the necessary bindings, Meg asked, “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah,” Quentin replied, slightly confused as to why the runner was asking such a thing when she was the one injured.

“Quentin I...” Meg hesitated, her voice abnormally soft and unsure. “I heard about your outburst at the fire. And Laurie’s. And about what happened to Dwight.”

Quentin finished dressing the wound and pocketed the remaining gauze left over. He sighed, his eyes downcast as he tried to figure out how to respond to her comment. He knew the others would spill but he thought he could avoid any confrontation for a while.

“I’m fine,” he uttered though he in fact felt nowhere near fine.

The runner’s eyes narrowed, her baby blue orbs shimmering with some unknown emotion. Then, out of nowhere, Meg pitched herself forward to embrace him. Her arms wrapped snuggly around his shoulders as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“You’re such a bad liar,” Meg mumbled into his throat.

Great, now she was going to needlessly worry about him too. “I said I’m f—”

“Shut up,” the runner cut him off, her face moving to align with his own. “You’re not fine. You never were and we shoulda noticed way before now. And I’m sorry, and I know the others are too.”

“It...” Quentin was certainly not expecting an apology from Meg yet here it was. “Thanks Meg. But really you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Heh,” the runner voiced with a hint of humour. “You sound just like my mother, y’know that?”

“Your mother?”

“Yeah. She was the best,” Meg fondly uttered, her eyes lighting up in remembrance. “Did everything she could for my education, supported me even though I was a bit... ”

“Short-tempered?” Quentin offered.

“Yeah, that,” Meg agreed and lightly punched his knee. Then her baby blue orbs began to water, her face wrinkling in what appeared to be sadness. “And then she got sick. Acute liver failure.”

Quentin immediately reached his hand out to take hers, providing Meg some comfort as he muttered, “I’m really sorry.”

“I missed out on college to take care of her. Tried to make her life more comfortable,” Meg stated as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “But every time I showed up to help, she told me she was fine. That everything was okay and that I shouldn’t worry about her.”

Now there was something Quentin could relate to. Odds were her mother did not want to burden Meg with her illness. “She probably wanted you to live your li—”

“I know!” the runner snapped at him only for her voice to then drop to a whisper. “I know… but I couldn’t just leave her to suffer alone like that. Not after everything she did for me.”

Quentin was really at a loss for words so he simply pulled her into another hug, his nose inhaling the faint woodsy scent of her hair.

Meg sniffled into his chest, her thin fingers gripping at his T-shirt as she mumbled, “I just wanted to help her but her words, her stupid... I wanted to puke every single time I heard them. Smack her for being so selfish.”

“She wasn’t being s—”

“Yes she was!” Meg cried, neck cranking upward to glare at Quentin. “She was trying to solve her own problems without letting anyone help her. That’s still being selfish!”

“It’s not if y—”

The runner gripped his shirt tighter, her teary eyes nearly burning holes into his own, and shouted, “And you’re doing it too! Do you have any idea how hard it is for us to watch you suffer?”

Quentin snarled at that, his teeth grit in anger, and exclaimed, “It’s just as hard for me watching you guys suffer!”

A sudden burst of pain spread across his cheek. It took Quentin a second to realise that Meg had slapped him, the affected skin now stinging dully. The runner broke free from his embrace to place her hands firmly on his shoulders.

“Grow up!” Meg shouted, her baby blue eyes practically aflame despite the moisture there. “You may not like our help but you’re gonna get it!”

Quentin and Meg abruptly screamed, the both of them clutching their heads in agony as electricity coursed through their skulls. The Doctor was nearby and probably heard their cries of pain. Or perhaps the killer had been skulking around the entire time they were having their supposed heart-to-heart.

“Hey! Hey asshole!” Quentin observed as Meg stood up and screamed at The Doctor, her hands drawing semi-circles in the air. “Come ‘n’ get me you snickering fuck! Betcha can’t catch me!”

Then she was off, racing into the cornfield while blowing obnoxious raspberries at the electricity-wielding killer. However, instead of following Meg, The Doctor set his sights on him, the man’s mouth twisting into a creepy all-teeth smile. Panicking, Quentin stumbled to his feet and sprinted to the closest pallet.

He continuously looped around the slab of wood until having the need to throw it down, the killer shocking him the entire time. This process went on for some time: find a pallet, loop the pallet, and then slam it down. Unfortunately the hallucinations were becoming more prevalent and his senses started to deceive him. Quentin was unable to tell which pallets were real or what killer was real. One wrong guess led to a spiked stick striking him on the shoulder. He had pretty much bled this area of the farm dry of pallets, and The Doctor was showing no signs of leaving him anytime soon. He needed to buy the others more time.

Without any other options, Quentin ducked into the large farm house and ran up the stairs. Big mistake on his part. With no pallets and no way to effectively loop the killer, The Doctor easily struck him down. Quentin fell face-first on the wooden floor, his chin scraping unpleasantly on the floor planks. Bastard finally got him; bet he was thrilled. Although his back was absent of any warm, wet feeling associated with blood. Did the killer kick him or something?

Groaning softly, he twisted his neck to tiredly glance out into the cornfield. His observations now, the locations of the generators and pallets, would help him later when he was saved from the hook. Yet moments passed and nothing happened. Cranking his head around, he noticed The Doctor merely looming over his prone form.

“You gonna pick me up or what?”

The electricity-wielding killer began cackling once more, the sound hurting Quentin’s eardrums. Then The Doctor shook his head, the man practically radiating with undisguised glee.

“Kill me?”

Again the killer shook his head from side-to-side, the action beginning to annoy Quentin.

“So, what? You just gonna stand there watching me?” he snapped at the man. “I’ll scream if you try to ambush my friends.”

Once again the killer shook his head, positioned one hand over his heart, and finally replied, “This is all a personal favour for my dear friend Frederick.”

Frederick? He did not mean Freddy did he? Maybe it was a different Frederick. And since when could this guy speak? Quentin thought the man only to be capable of ceaseless laughter.

“He was rather disappointed that his appointment with you was cut short,” The Doctor explained in a deep voice while Quentin began to breathe rapidly. “And he asked me, oh so kindly, if I might allow his precious boy the rest he desperately needs if I should happen upon him during my trial.”

His bottom lip quivered at The Doctor’s words, fear freezing him in place on the floor. The electricity-wielding killer leaned down and grasped his skinned chin tightly, his crazed eyes roaming critically over Quentin’s face.

“Discolouration under the lower eyelids and the skin there appears to be rather tender,” The Doctor raddled off. “The eyes themselves are nearly bloodshot while their sockets look sunken to a certain degree. Yes, I daresay Frederick is correct.”

The killer released his chin and rubbed his palms together, an electrical charge sparking between the gaps in his fingers.

“I believe a little rest right now would be greatly beneficial for you,” The Doctor stated and pulled his palms apart, the maniac’s smile growing impossibly larger to match his overly wide eyes. “Doctor’s orders.”

“No,” Quentin quickly squeaked out. “Don’t y—”

“Pleasant dreams,” the killer uttered sweetly before placing his charged hands on either side of Quentin’s head.

Then there was pain, Quentin screaming loudly as electricity fried his brain. As quickly as it started, the current abruptly stopped. His forehead hit the floor, his vision fading to black as his eyelids drooped shut. The sound of shrill laughter was the last thing he heard before darkness claimed him.

\--------------------

Consciousness came back to Quentin slowly, his first inkling of awareness tipping him off to the heavy scent of smoke. When his brain finally allowed his eyelids to open, he found himself lying on the grungy floor of the boiler room. Grunting angrily, he slowly rose to his feet and surveyed the area.

When nothing of interest turned up, Quentin growled in frustration and then shouted, “I know you’re here Krueger! Show yourself already!”

A loud rumbling sound was his only answer. Slowly cranking his neck around, Quentin had mere seconds to register the giant wall of water heading his way before being swept under. The water pulled him throughout the room, the current too strong to swim against as his body roughly collided with various pipes and machinery. He was going to drown, he was going to drown, he was going to drown. The phrase kept repeating, the negativity constricting his heart as the organ pounded erratically in his ears, the noise competing with the roar of the water. A particularly hard hit to his back knocked what little air he had left in his lungs out, his precious oxygen being replaced with an abundance of suffocating liquid. Before the current was able to carry him off again, his hand snatched a rung of a stairwell. With no small amount of effort, Quentin heaved himself onto the first few steps and pulled himself up. Once reaching the dry safety of the catwalk above, he slammed both hands on the rusted railing and coughed up the invading water in his system.

“Did you have a nice swim angelfish?” Freddy inquired.

Quentin barely had the energy to jump at the bastard’s voice yet he somehow still did. He offered a sideways glance to Freddy, his squinted eyes taking in his worst nightmare lazily leaning on the railing with that ugly Cheshire smile of his. And angelfish? He internally groaned at how fitting the stupid nickname was.

“Ready to spend some _quality_ time together? I know I am,” Krueger said, his gravelly voice positively dripping with delight as he slowly sauntered closer to him.

Quentin released a tiny laugh and matched Krueger’s smirk, and then boldly replied, “Don’t be so sure asshole. My friends’ll wake me up.”

“Not this time,” the man assured, a single blade waving to-and-fro. “Herman will see to that.”

“Herman?”

“The Doctor,” Freddy clarified. “All of us _killers_ have names. We’re people too, but you w—”

“You’re fucking monsters,” Quentin spat. “And my friends _will_ wake me up.”

Freddy chuckled at his statement and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, the hand forcing Quentin to peer down at the now calm waters below. Quentin attempted to fight, his head and torso bucking backwards into the man, until he noticed some sort of dark red goo bubbling at several spots on the surface of the water.

“Your friends? And what _friends_ are you referring to?” Krueger curiously asked as the goo quickly dyed the clean, clear water red. “The ones you take for granted?”

Quentin was offended by the mere question. “I don’t t—”

“The ones you push away? The ones you scold for trying to help you?” Freddy continued unperturbed.

Quentin went to protest again but no words fell from his open mouth. He did not want to believe he was pushing his friends away. And would they actually give up on him because of something like that? Leave him to the mercy of the killer? Meg certainly seemed keen on helping him before even if her attempt backfired. Or maybe she did that on purpose to expose his position. He clenched his hands into fists to quell their shaking but to no avail.

Quentin remained silent for a moment longer and simply watched water droplets drip from the ends of his drenched bangs. That was until he saw something—several somethings in fact—float to the surface of the water below. His breath hitched when he realised the floating objects were bodies. First few to surface were Meg, Dwight, and Ace off to the left and then Bill, Feng, Claudette and Jake to the right. And finally, in the centre, appeared David and Laurie. They were all clearly dead from what he could see, with vacant eyes and butchered bodies. Some of them were even missing limbs. Quentin took several deep breaths to rid the images from his mind. He had to relax; this display was just another one of the fucker’s cheap tricks. It was not real and it never would be.

Quentin felt Krueger grinning against his neck as the man said, “But this could be real. I can make it s—”

“Get the fuck outta my head!”

“I told you,” Freddy said, the burned man suddenly spinning Quentin around to face him. The man then gently brushed some of his damp, curly locks from his eyes. “They can’t save you. You’ve given them no reason to.”

Quentin slapped the vile hand away and violently shoved the man away. “Fuck off!”

“Why would they want to risk their lives for a sniffling little brat?”

“Do you ever stop t—Whatever, it doesn’t matter what you say.” He was not about to let Freddy persuade him of anything. “Just let me wake up!”

Freddy put on a fake pout and softly complained, “But we haven’t even had a chance to play yet.”

Quentin shouted in exasperation and threw his hands haphazardly into the smoky air.

“Why can’t you j—”

A searing pain in his head interrupted him, the sensation so powerful it drove him to his knees. Something was wrong. Once the initial agony disappeared, his torso felt hollow and numb like an empty shell. His limbs refused to respond to his commands and his mind felt disconnected from his body. His vision started to change as well, a blurry film moving in from the corners of his eyes and overtaking his sight.

“Don’t worry Quen,” Freddy reassured as he crouched before him, the dream demon gingerly tilting Quentin’s chin up to face him. “It’s a fun game. You’ll love it.”

With that, Freddy shoved him backwards by the face. The railing behind him burst into water as he fell into the thick sludge below, the red liquid sucking him under. He realised minutely that said red goo was indeed blood—fake or real was unknown—but at least he did not land on any bodies.

Quentin sunk further down and internally screamed, the crimson fluid practically burning into his pores. Instead of drowning like he thought he would, he remained submerged for but a moment before his body began ascending. Upon breaching the surface, Quentin felt the sludge recede from all around him with a noise akin to bathwater receding into a drain. He tried to move but found himself still unable. All he was capable of doing was gazing up into a seemingly endless white void. This definitely was not the boiler room so where was he?

“Quentin?” a female called out, the noise drawing his attention. A thirty-something-year-old woman suddenly entered his field of vision. She had a mostly fair complexion and medium length, slightly curly brunette hair. The kind smile she gave him would have been comforting if he did not know any better. “There you are. What’re you doing sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” Quentin heard himself respond yet he did not voice the word. And his voice sounded off. Too high-pitched, as if he had not hit puberty yet. “Is my daddy here yet?”

Daddy? He had not called his father daddy in years. And this woman he was speaking to looked vaguely familiar. What the hell was going on?

The woman frowned at him and said, “I’m sorry dear, but it looks like your father will be running late again today.”

“Oh... okay.” Quentin felt the dejection and sadness even though they were not his own. He himself felt only more confusion over the situation.

“Mrs. Winton and I need to head home now,” she said and gestured to the door with a dainty hand, “but Mr. Krueger will be here to keep you company until your father comes.”

As Quentin’s head turned without his permission, his eyes latched onto an unburned Freddy Krueger leaning against a doorframe. The man wore a light olive-coloured shirt with light beige pants and a now pristine brown fedora adorning his head.

Oh god. This was a memory from when he attended Badham Preschool. Freddy was forcing him to relive something, trapped in the body of his five-year-old self, and he was powerless to stop it. Quentin started to hyperventilate as his younger counterpart happily bounced over to the man responsible for his worst nightmares.

“Oh boy!” his younger self voiced excitedly. “Can we finish ‘A Starlit Summersalt Downhill’?”

“That’s ‘A Starlit _Somersault_ Downhill’ Quentin,” Freddy corrected, “and of course. Anything you want.”

“Yay!” the boy squealed in delight.

Not yay; definitely not yay. He tried talking to his younger self, attempting to convince the boy to run away or stay with the kind lady. Anything except be left alone with Freddy, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. His five-year-old self was unable to hear him.

“Have a nice evening Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Winton,” Freddy uttered while he waved at the two women presumably outside of the room. Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Winton? Right. They were his teachers here; he remembered their faces from the class photograph.

Quentin felt his younger self moving, the energetic boy stepping into the hallway and giving his own enthusiastic wave to both teachers.

“Bye Mrs. Winton, bye Mrs. Russell! See you tomorrow!”

“Bub-bye Quentin,” Mrs. Winton waved at him. “Behave yourself for Mr. Krueger okay.”

“I will!”

“The book’s in my room Quen. We can finish reading it down there,” Freddy suggested as he offered the boy an outstretched hand.

Quentin again tried to warn his younger self against going anywhere with Krueger, and again his voice went unheard. He screamed in anguish, the muffled sound reverberating all around whatever space he was trapped within.

When the five-year-old did not immediately take the offered hand, Krueger asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you bring the book up here? I don’t like the big fire pot down there. It’s loud and bright and hot and scary,” young Quentin whined.

“Big fire pot? Oh,” Freddy said while drawing out the noise, “you mean the furnace. It keeps the school warm when it gets cold outside. And it’s not gonna hurt you Quen.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise,” Freddy swore while the man ruffled his short, brown hair. Quentin cringed from the affectionate touch while his younger counterpart leaned into it. “Shall we go?”

“Yes please,” young Quentin cheerfully replied and placed his tiny hand into Krueger’s larger one.

Quentin grew impatient and violently cursed Freddy to no end, demanding the man give up this twisted game of his. When nothing and no one answered him back, liquid quickly prickled at the corners of his eyes. Fucking sick bastard.

The duo descended into the basement of the school or, more accurately, into Freddy’s bedroom. Quentin absolutely did not want to be here, a nauseous feeling slowing creeping up on him, but his younger self seemed ecstatic.

Five-year-old Quentin took a moment to look around the room while Freddy searched for the book in question. Quentin slightly recalled the décor but, to his displeasure, seeing the room as it was now only heightened his remembrance: the large bed tucked away in the upper corner with the bedding neatly made; the tables scattered about, all of which were piled with random junk; sets of shelves containing books and other school-related records; the pictures they painted for Freddy hanging around the room—Nancy’s paintings being the most plentiful; and that dreaded crawl space door, the small area lying just behind it filling him with a sense of trepidation. Was this one of those times Freddy took him in there?

“I found it,” the groundskeeper called out.

Freddy proceeded to sit on the bed and his younger self jumped up beside the man. Scooting closer, younger Quentin parked himself in Freddy’s lap. Not a good position to be in if Quentin had any say in the matter. The gardener coiled an arm around the boy to steady him while his other hand held the book.

Quentin tuned out the reading material, too preoccupied with finding a way out of his predicament. He tried to move again, lift an arm or shift a leg, but—like before—no limb responded to him. Next he tried concentrating on his escape, allowing his emotions to grow larger. If his mind was being manipulated, then maybe he could free himself if he focused hard enough on the emotions he was experiencing. The here-and-now ones, not the ones he experienced all those years ago. However, nearly three minutes passed and all he obtained was a throbbing headache. Back to the drawing board.

Suddenly the hand around his, no younger Quentin’s, back started to gently rub circles over his cotton shirt. This continued for a minute before the hand slipped underneath the fabric, a calloused palm now stroking bare skin. The sensation was uncomfortable to him but five-year-old Quentin hummed happily without a care, the boy being too engrossed in the story to notice something amiss. Or maybe not. Did his younger self even realise this kind of touching was wrong?

“Mr. Krueger!” his younger self squealed, the boy giggling from the touches. “That tickles!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Quen,” the man replied in a tone that clearly depicted how not sorry he was.

The hand removed itself, the itchy and tingling pinpricks slowly fading shortly after. Quentin breathed a sigh of relief only to feel himself abruptly flinch. Said hand returned only mere moments later but this time its reach was lower and oriented to the front, the extremity dipping inside the waistband of younger Quentin’s pants to palm at his tiny cock. Thankfully the boy stiffened and instantly moved off of Freddy’s lap. He applauded his younger self but remained wary as the boy had yet to flee the vicinity.

“What’s the matter Quentin?”

His five-year-old self thrusted a finger at Krueger and stated, “You’re not supposed to touch there.”

“Oh?” Freddy said like he did not know that he had done anything wrong. The smile splitting the gardener’s face however said otherwise. “Why’s that?”

“My daddy says it’s a special place and only a special person’s allowed to touch it.”

“Is that so?” Krueger remarked slowly. “And who’s this ‘special person’ exactly?”

“It’s a special girl that loves you and laughs with you and likes playing with you.” Good grief. Did he actually believe this nonsense once? And why would anyone tell their child this? Quentin might laugh if the situation was not so serious.

“Really?” the groundskeeper said with his creepy smile still in place. “How sweet.”

“But girls are icky,” his younger self added to which Quentin mentally face-palmed.

Freddy snickered at the comment and then asked, “What about boys?”

Younger Quentin pondered this for a second before he said, “Daddy didn’t say anything about boys. I guess it could be a special boy too!”

“Well I’m a boy.”

“No you’re not,” the boy uttered between giggles. “You’re a man. ‘Cause your bigger.” Quentin hoped his younger self was referring to their height differences and nothing else.

“I suppose I am,” Freddy conceded, “but a man is just a bigger boy.”

“Well… I-I guess so,” younger Quentin admitted, the boy thoughtfully chewing on his finger. It was an old habit—biting at his fingers when he was nervous—and one his father eventually put a stop to.

“And I love you,” Freddy continued, the man pulling the boy closer again and cupping his cherub cheek with one hand. Quentin wished to savagely bite that hand off. “We laugh together and play games all the time. You’re my special boy Quentin.”

Quentin was going to be sick, the nausea wreaking havoc on his insides. Yet another feeling was mixed in, the one his younger self was currently experiencing. It was not pain or nervousness or disgust. It was joy. Overwhelming and unrestrained joy, the sensation so strong it was almost suffocating.

Quentin remembered this now. This was a week or so after he witnessed his mother leaving. He thought her departure was because of something bad he had done but it turned out his parents merely got divorced. Quentin recalled the utter sadness he felt, the gut-retching despair as he watched his mother walk out the front door. He did not remember her face or if she even said goodbye to him. All he remembered was that she left. She left, and his father changed for the worst. His home life consisted of nothing but neglect and abuse after that, his father raising him with an iron fist.

Things however were the total opposite with Freddy—at least for a while. The man became his personal yet figurative candle which shone brightly in the darkness of his mind. He shared a great many experiences with the groundskeeper but, on this day, it was something unique. Krueger’s words to him in this moment lifted his spirits higher than they had ever been before. Freddy made him feel wanted, made him feel safe and, most importantly, made him feel loved.

“You’re such a good boy,” Freddy whispered into young Quentin’s ear, his breath heating the lobe. “I just wanna show you how much you mean to me.”

Please no! Quentin did not want to experience this all over again, not when he had no means of escape. He screamed and cursed hoping, somehow, that his voice would be heard. Instead he felt his younger counterpart nodding at Krueger’s unspoken question, the gesture causing Quentin to gag on his regurgitated bile.

“Can you take off your clothes and lie down for me?” Freddy asked sweetly.

His younger self gave the man a confused head tilt before he said, “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“It’ll be a lot nicer with them outta the way.”

“Okay,” younger Quentin immediately agreed without thought and proceeded to hastily strip himself.

No, not okay. You cannot let him do this to you. In an effort to spare himself the humiliation, Quentin tried his best to ignore the scene playing out. It was easier said than done. He was able to feel everything his younger self was experiencing. Every caress of his skin, the roughness of the man’s fingers lightly grazing over his chest and stomach. Every flick of Freddy’s tongue, the wet appendage leaving a slimy trail wherever it touched. He shivered in disgust, more burning bile rising up from the depths of his throat. His younger counterpart however simply smiled and giggled the whole time.

“How’s this feel Quen?”

“It tickles,” younger Quentin confessed, “and it makes my tummy feel funny.”

Freddy hummed in consideration and kissed the boy’s navel. “Bad funny?”

His five-year-old self shook his head and replied, “Good funny. It feels warm.”

“Warm’s good,” the gardener commented and moved lower.

Freddy’s face now rested in front of young Quentin’s small cock, the man’s tongue snaking out to lick a stripe from head to base. Both he and his younger counterpart stiffened at the feeling, the continued licks there causing their body temperatures to rise. Quentin struggled to think straight at this point, the pleasure his five-year-old self was experiencing was just too much. God he was not about to get off from _this!_ Not from his own abuse!

“M-Mr. Krueger,” the boy moaned uncontrollably, “it f-feels... it feels... I-I think I have t-t-to go to the b-bathroom.”

Freddy temporarily removed his mouth to chuckle at that the other male. “It means you’re close Quen but you don’t actually have to go to the bathroom,” Krueger explained. “Why don’t you let it out? It’ll feel even better.”

“B-But—”

“You trust me, don’t you Quentin?”

“Yes,” his younger self answered in a heartbeat, the adoration present in that one word reduced Quentin to tears.

“Then let go.”

A mere five seconds later and the boy released a shrill moan and erupted into the man’s throat.

“NOOOOOOO!” Quentin wailed.

His voice sounded louder this time, deeper and without the echoing from before. Quentin desperately tried to recover his lost breath as he stared straight ahead. As his mind caught up with him, he swiftly sat up to find himself lying on Krueger’s bed in the basement of the preschool. The mattress and surrounding room additionally were still intact and free of decay. Upon inspecting himself, Quentin discovered that he was no longer in the body of his five-year-old self. However, his eyes widened and his breath froze in his throat when he noted his lack of clothing.

“That was fun wasn’t it?” a sudden, rough voice said beside him.

Some unseen force knocked him back, his naked form pinning itself to the bed. Quentin fought against it, tugging uselessly at his captured limbs until a mangled palm began fondling his stomach.

“Certainly got our blood pumping.” Shut the fuck up asshole, Quentin thought bitterly.

Turning his head, he sent a heated glare at an incredibly smug looking Krueger, the burned bastard displaying an ominous sparkle in his miscoloured eyes.

Freddy raised a single finger knife and gently poked at the centre of his chest while he uttered, “And now we can really _play_.”

The dream demon began mockingly dragging the tiny blade downward, the tip leaving behind a thin and shallow line. Quentin whimpered not from the little slice but from the weight of his situation, its true reality slowly starting to sink in.

For the first time in a long while, he truly feared Freddy. Feared what the man was going to do to him. As his body began to tremble, Quentin squeezed his eyelids shut and screamed with all his might.


	17. Dreams And Realities | Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned!

“It’s been far too long since I’ve had you like this,” Freddy gloated, his insufferable face looking oh so incredibly smug.

Quentin gulped nervously as the man straddled his hips while mangled fingers ran along one of his bound arms, the tiny hairs there rising from the contact. Said fingers lingered on a jagged cut—from The Doctor’s spiked stick—and fingernails begun digging into it but Quentin simply pressed his lips in a thin line and endured it. Do not let him see that you are scared, his mind whispered in encouragement. He needed to stay strong just like he always did when it came to dealing with Freddy.

Then Quentin felt the offending hand shift downward, the palm sliding over the curve of his neck to lightly caress the smooth skin of a pectoral. His skin started to crawl, a powerful shiver running up his spine as fingers traced the faint lines of musculature on his chest.

“Don’t touch me,” he seethed, his voice abnormally strong despite the recent mental torture he had just underwent. He continued to squirm away from Freddy’s feather-light touches even though his effort was likely pointless. No matter the futility though, Quentin was going to fight the dream demon every step of the way.

“Don’t be that way angelfish,” Freddy tutted, a single blade tapping Quentin’s lip mockingly until he turned away. Mottled fingers took a moment to flick one of his nipples, the short burst of pain making his dick twitch slightly. Why the fuck was he reacting to something like this? “We both know you want this.”

“No,” Quentin replied adamantly. He was completely disgusted with himself for even feeling a shred of interest from this and especially from his past childhood abuse. He just needed to stop thinking about it, or think about something else. Something off-putting or something actually helpful.

There was still a chance that his friends could wake him up. Assuming they were able to find him. The Doctor, Herman apparently, might have moved his body or perhaps the killer was guarding him. Although, at this point, did it really matter? If Herman was working with Freddy then it was possible for other killers to be in league with the dream demon too. Hence something like this was bound to happen over and over again. He screwed his eyelids shut to prevent any moisture from accumulating while he prayed for a miracle. Anything to save him from this nightmare.

Quentin gritted his teeth when Freddy decided to roll a nipple between his repulsive fingers. With his ungloved hand preoccupied, the gloved one started carving random lines into his torso. The cuts were shallow yet still drew blood, and of course the bastard took the time to reopen his old scars too. Fuck him!

“Y’know,” Freddy began while Quentin tried to shy away from his ministrations, “Nancy said the exact same—”

“Leave her outta this!”

“—thing to me. I had her pinned down,” the dream demon muttered with glee. “Spread out—

“Shut up!” The imagery was enough to churn the acid in his gut and bring on another wave of nausea.

“—while wearing the cutest dress. You remember the one. And the noises we made together. Oh,” Freddy drew out the word, the noise almost sounding as if the man had just orgasmed from the thought alone. “They were so beautiful.”

His stomach had finally reached its maximum tolerance threshold. Quentin turned his head to the side abruptly vomited over the edge of the bed. Given that he had not consumed any food in the longest time, all that came out was bile. Hot, disgusting bile that scalded his throat and left a nasty taste on his tongue. The bastard merely chuckled at him and petted his head, fingers snagging themselves in his unruly curls. In hindsight it would have been infinitely better if he had thrown up all over Freddy. Maybe then the sick fuck would not act so high and mighty. Too late for it now though.

Besides, there was a more urgent matter he wished to settle. His patience for Krueger’s insistence on bringing up Nancy was long gone. He wanted the truth.

“Then _why?_ ” Quentin weakly snapped while he recovered from his little puking session. “If she meant _so_ much to you, if she was your favourite, then why’d you come after me? We thought you were dead. You had the perfect opportunity to go after her.”

Freddy huffed with humour before he slowly replied, “Perhaps… but I didn’t want to.”

“What?”

“This was never about Nancy,” Krueger declared and leaned towards him, hot breath fanning across his face. “This was about you.”

“W-Why?” Quentin reiterated. “Just ‘cause I-I got in your way d—”

“You _always_ got in the way,” Freddy aggressively growled out.

Quentin partially raised an eyebrow at the statement, his confusion leading him to quietly ask, “What’re you talking about?”

“You don’t remember?”

Remember what? A million things transpired during the course of his life and several of which he was content to never recollect. At his prolonged silence, Freddy continued on with a fond or perhaps almost proud expression plastered on his face.

“You were always clever at a young age. Too curious for your own good.” Krueger paused to run approving eyes over his naked and debauched torso. “You enjoyed our time together. Did everything you could to get my affection.”

Hands joined those eyes, palms absorbing hidden details on his flesh while smearing fresh blood all over. This was turning into déjà vu. Quentin cringed at the feel but pursed his lips together to keep his composure in check. He was not about to shed any more tears for this sick fuck.

“But then I started playing with the other kids more... with Nancy,” Freddy added to which Quentin sneered at. “And you didn’t like that very much. Started throwing yourself at m—”

“Get to the fucking point!” Quentin snapped.

He really did not want to hear what he already knew. Yes, he was a more reclusive child. Yes, he had yearned for attention even if it was of the wrong kind. Yes, he was desperate enough back then to do some pretty shameful stunts to garner attention from the people he held most dear to his heart. Even though he was a child and did not know any better, he had never forgiven himself for stooping so low.

Freddy appeared annoyed, obviously not happy with the interruption, yet he did not finish his sentence this time. Thank heaven for small miracles.

“Without my attention, you had time to do other things on your own. Practice writing and spelling, painting... reading.” The disdain in the dream demon’s voice regarding the reading bit was surprising. “I caught you reading the dictionary of all things,” Freddy said and offered a small chuckle before continuing. “Looking up some very _interesting_ words. Words like sex, consent, force... rape.”

Did he really? Quentin was unable to recall doing that.

“I didn’t think much of it back then. Didn’t think a five-year-old could possibly understand...”

“But I did,” Quentin answered a little too smugly.

“You did,” Freddy confirmed with a leer, “and once you caught on you started acting differently.”

A hand was abruptly grabbing at his semi-hard member, palm coiling around the heated flesh and lazily stroking back and forth. Quentin bit his tongue to stifle any sounds of pleasure while hating himself for enjoying this like some touch-starved whore.

“I hardly noticed in the beginning given how preoccupied I was.” Quentin had the distinct impression Krueger was referring to Nancy again and he glared in response. “But then you started interfering, shifting my attention away from the other kids. I thought it was just a coincidence, you being the little attention whore you were,” Freddy said with a wink and Quentin felt an embarrassed flush blossom across his cheeks. Bastard was rooting around in his head again. “But it turns out you were actually quite the little schemer.”

“So... So you came after me ‘cause I what? Outsmarted you?”

“You got in the way back then,” the dream demon uttered, a single blade slowly poking into his old shoulder scar and driving a pained grunt out of him. “And when I tried to have my little Nancy all to myself.”

The play on his body was starting to become difficult to block out, the strain from resisting starting to manifest into perspiration. Quentin felt his cock oozing bead after bead of pre-cum, the increased slickness made for a more gratifying experience. Too good to ignore. Why did it have to feel so good?

“So you see, as much as I adore my little Nancy, I knew my tricky boy would be there. Getting in my way as he always did.”

A thumb rubbing circles over his slit had Quentin drawing blood, incisors piercing into his tongue and the heavy taste of iron steadily overwhelming his taste buds.

“Besides...” Freddy ceased his strokes and gave him a soft, tender smile. It was probably the scariest expression Quentin had ever witnessed. “You were always my favourite boy Quen. You made things difficult but interesting. And I’ve always loved a challenge.”

Krueger then shimmied back a bit and flicked his wrist. At the gesture, Quentin was forcibly flipped over, one cheek squishing into the bedding with his ass raised in the air. He growled at the uncomfortable and humiliating position. Unfortunately, like before, all his squirming proved useless thanks to the mystery force holding his limbs prisoner.

“You’re sick,” he spat spitefully, unable to come up with anything else to say.

Freddy hummed thoughtfully for a moment before he cheekily replied, “I suppose I am a bit of a naughty boy.”

Quentin paled when Freddy wiggled a slicked finger teasingly in the air, ensuring that he could see it, and slowly pushed it into his awaiting hole. He was able to feel the digit poking around at his insides, the sensation not painful but entirely unwanted.

“It’s not real,” Quentin whimpered out when the finger began curling, “this isn’t real.”

“Oh yes it i—”

“It’s not!” he responded more firmly only to nearly choke on a sudden gasp. Gulping down the excess blood in his mouth, Quentin shot a fierce scowl at Freddy and quietly seethed, “This is just a nightmare and you... you’re nothing but a pathetic pedophile.”

Freddy clearly did not appreciate his comment if the man’s indignant growl and up-curled lip were of any indication. The finger was swiftly retracted from his body only for several more to abruptly plunge inside. Quentin yelped from the rough intrusion as tears misted his vision. The slickness had long since disappeared and all that remained was a terrible burning sensation expanding in his rear. Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry. Suddenly those mangled fingers touched something new. No, something familiar, something horribly familiar which drew a pleased shriek from him.

“Oh,” Freddy voiced all too happily, “look what I found.”

Bastard! At the discovery of his sweet spot, every other jab from Freddy’s fingers was directed there. Quentin had difficulty muffling the breathy gasps and groans threatening to escape his mouth. Sadly he was not able to stop the faintly audible, high-pitched whines resounding in his throat. Nor was he able to prevent his cock from reaching full hardness, the organ throbbing and ready to blow.

Freddy ripped his fingers out once more and Quentin whined aloud at the loss before sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. He internally scolded himself over his outburst while Krueger laughed and playfully smacked one of his butt cheeks.

The rustling of clothes was heard shortly afterward and there was no doubt in his mind as to what that noise meant.

“Finally, after all these years,” the dream demon boasted while placing both hands on Quentin’s ass. Freddy’s palms softly kneaded the swell of each cheek, the knifes from the gloved hand lightly scratching into the surface of his skin. “I get to savour the whole package. I shoulda done this a long time ago with you kids but I didn’t wanna take the risk. Oh well...”

Krueger sighed and then locked eyes with him, the bastard’s face lighting up like a firework to match the vibrant twinkle in his miscoloured eyes. The look had Quentin panicking, his breath shaky and skipping every so often. “At least I’ll have you, my special little boy.”

Quentin wailed in sheer agony from the harsh entry of Freddy’s member, the action finally breaking his resolve and causing tears to spring forth. His inner walls constricted around the intrusion while the burning sensation only intensified further.

Not sparing him a moment to adjust, the dream demon started up a steady rhythm. In and out, in and out. Despite the earlier stretching, every thrust rubbed his sensitive flesh raw to the point of tearing. Also, Krueger’s dick felt just as disgustingly leathery and mangled as his hand which only made things feel worse. It felt as though his innards were being split at newly made seams, the man’s cock practically carving him up from the inside out. Quentin yelled even louder when sharp knifes slashed down his back.

His face flushed with heat as he endured this cruelty to the best of his abilities. But it hurt, it hurt so fucking much! Quentin bit into his tongue once more, determined not to give the man any more satisfaction. Apparently Freddy had other ideas and abruptly rammed in all the way to the hilt, the action forcing a hoarse scream from his throat. The pace was still relatively slow but the motions became harder and, in turn, deeper. A couple more angled strikes later and the man nailed his prostate, a hint of pleasure slipping in alongside the intense pain.

Quentin, no matter his defiance, was reaching his inevitable end. However, probably screwing around in his mind again or perhaps reading the situation, a hand immediately wrapped around the base of his aching dick. A few seconds passed and then a cold sensation was seeping into the heated flesh there. When Freddy’s hand was removed, Quentin found his release being blocked. The obstructing object was cold and possibly squishy. He swore he felt the thing moving too or pulsating maybe. What the fuck was it?

Then Krueger was lifting him up with a hand underneath his stomach, maneuvering him onto his hands and knees. Quentin had little time to dwell on his change in position since his hands started sinking into the mattress. He panicked, pulling fruitless at his wrists until he felt some kind of gooey substance encasing them.

Grunting and still trying to pull his hands free, Quentin asked, “W-What is this?”

“Feels nice doesn’t it?” Oddly enough, it did. The cold goo began to move, the thick substance massaging his trapped hands.

He instantly shouted in ecstasy when another cool, squishy substance latched onto his cock and started sucking. Peering underneath him, Quentin observed as a blood-red tendril—something akin to a bulbous snake—sucked him off similar to an infant drinking from a bottle. Several more tendrils sprang up through the bed sheets to suckle at his body. Two attached themselves to his nipples while the rest sucked at his open wounds. It felt way too good, his pleasure rising to heights he had not known ever existed.

“You’re so beautiful like this angelfish,” Freddy cooed and upped the speed of his thrusts. Squelching noises were emitted with every push and pull of the man’s hips, the disturbingly wet sound—hopefully just from blood—echoing alongside the slap of skin against skin. “Keep screaming for me.”

Quentin had zero control over his withering body and his mind was slowly being lost in a pleasurable fog as well. His entire form was burning up in contrast to the temperature of the cold snake-like tendrils. His hips felt incredibly bruised, and his throat was going dry from all the screaming and moaning.

He initially refused to beg, focusing instead on his hate for the man and how much he was going to enjoy killing Freddy. Now though, now he was unable to hold himself back.

“S-S-Stop... Fucking stop!” Quentin pleaded between moans. “I-I can’t—I can’t take this any-anymore.”

“All you have to do is ask nicely Quentin,” Freddy stated, his breathing hardly sounding laboured at all. He was surprised the old bastard possessed such stamina. Maybe it was some kind of perk of the dream world.

And ask nicely? Of course Krueger was going to milk his misery for all it was worth. Another frustrated wail passed his lips as claws scraped down his back once more, the pain somehow adding to his enjoyment.

Freddy leaned down to nibble at his shoulder, the pressure from his blunt teeth sure to leave behind a vivid hickey. He tried hunching his shoulders to dislodge the dream demon but those teeth would not budge.

Quentin swallowed around a particularly shrill moan and shrieked, “Please!” He just could not handle the overstimulation.

He felt Freddy smile against his shoulder as the man tutted, “Ah, ah, ah. You know how to ask _nicely_ , or have you forgotten your manners too?”

Quentin screamed to high heaven, tears of desperation cascading down his face.

He did not quite hear the other at first but, when Freddy’s words finally clicked in his scrambled brain, he realised exactly what the dream demon wanted. Quentin stubbornly shook his head, refusing to indulge Freddy. No way in hell was he going to utter _those_ words.

“Are you sure?” the man questioned sweetly before stabbing his blades into one of his ass cheeks. Quentin yelled in response while the rhythm of Freddy’s thrusts pushed the blades awkwardly in and out of the wound. “Because you look like you’re in pain. And I hate having to watch my favourite boy suffer.”

Why that smug son of a b—Fuck it! He could not take anymore. He had to cum. No, he needed to cum! He needed this to be over and done with!

More traitorous tears fell as he hung his head in shame, his mouth finally voicing what the other desired. “P-Please Mr. Kru-Krueger.”

“You know I can’t hear you when you mumble Quen,” Freddy chided through grunts. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

The dream demon withdrew his knifes and slapped his bleeding ass cheek while delivering a particularly hard jab to his prostate. At the same time, the snake-like tendrils began sucking in earnest as if their lives depended on it.

“Gah! Ah! P-Please!” he repeated more loudly. This was too much. Way too much. He was going to die from denial. He really was going to die. “Please Mr. Krueger! L-L-Lemme—Fuck! Ah! Lemme c-cum! Please, p-please Mr. Krueger!” Quentin sobbed out in desperation.

Freddy breathlessly chuckled and slowly said, “That’s my good boy.”

The man’s pace became more erratic while a leathery hand wrapped around the cold object blocking his release. When the constricting thing disappeared, Quentin instantly howled. His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his skull as his swollen cock erupted violently, the tendril attached there eagerly drinking every single drop of his seed. Moments later, Krueger groaned and stilled, filling his insides to the brim as the gross fluid irritated his torn flesh. Quentin blearily noticed but was too busy coming down from his high.

Only when he became completely soft did the tendril release his spent member. The others quickly receded as well after greedily draining the last traces of blood from his cuts. His hands and legs were released from their respective restraints and Krueger removed himself from his body with a gluttonous moan. Quentin weightlessly collapsed forward to lay face-first in the bloody and sweaty sheets. He tried to catch his breath as his brain slowly processed everything that had just occurred. Humiliated and revolted with himself, Quentin curled into a ball and quietly sobbed. His brain did him the terrific service of registering every gory detail currently afflicting him: the stinging pain from the cuts marring his body; the soreness in his joints; the awful ache radiating from his tailbone; the burning pain in his ass; and the bodily fluids leaking from his abused hole.

Freddy laid down beside him, pulling him backwards and into sweater-clad arms. Quentin whimpered at the feel of the other’s dick nudging between his butt cheeks and wordlessly prayed that the dream demon was done with him.

The man then gently mused the sweaty hairs clinging to his scalp as a nose buried itself into the crevice of his neck and inhaled deeply. Quentin barely had the energy to cry let alone flinch. His only desire now was to be not touched and left alone. No, he would rather go back in time and ensure this never happened in the first place.

“You’re mine Quentin Smith,” Freddy whispered resolutely into his throat. The use of his full name and seriousness in Krueger’s voice drudged up more useless sobs and whimpers. “Remember that.”

Quentin felt lips against his ear, a scratchy tongue briefly licking the lobe, and then blades were suddenly piercing his jugular. His eyes immediately widened as he gagged on the massive amount of blood pooling in his mouth and esophagus. He realised minutely that his body was going into shock, his hands shakily hovering over the gouge wound but unable to press down. A harsh grip on his hair forced him to stare at Freddy. Instead of seeing a murderous smile, Quentin saw some sort of a distant expression on the other’s face. In fact it was the same expression from that time Krueger held him hostage in a locker. What was the deal with that face? A tender, blood-slicked hand cradling his cheek interrupted his receding thoughts. Quentin detested the gesture but had no means of stopping it. Not like it mattered now anyways. Freddy got exactly what he wanted.

He hiccupped in vain for several seconds, thick liquid now effectively clogging his windpipe. Then, at long last, he felt himself slipping into the safety and comfort of blissful unconsciousness.

\--------------------

Quentin awoke alone in a familiar, barely lit forested area. He stood upright only to wince in discomfort. Despite being revived, he still felt sore all over. His chest, his back, and especially his ass. Why was he so sore again? What the hell hap—

“No,” Quentin whispered faintly in disbelief, his breathing turning rapid.

The events of the trial slowly trickled back to the forefront of his mind along with the hellish nightmare he was forced into.

“No, no, no, no, no...” he repeated until his voice broke. He collapsed to his knees, his fingers clawing into the ground as gritty soil lodged itself underneath his fingernails. He could not believe what just happened. He lost his virginity to the person he loathed most in life and worse of all: he enjoyed it. No, he thought firmly, he did not enjoy it. It was just a bodily reaction; nothing more. Nothing more.

In petty rage, he sauntered over to the nearest tree and drove his fist into it. And then another, and another and another.

How could this happen? Why did this have to happen? He had done everything humanly possible to keep himself from falling asleep: busying himself with gathering medicinal ingredients with Claudette or on his own; playing games with his friends; going for the occasional run with Meg; stabbing himself with whatever sharp object he could find when the urge to sleep would not dissipate. Additionally, he tried his hardest to manage the sometimes frequent micro-naps he experienced, making sure to remain calm as to not cause too much of a scene. Yet all his efforts were in vain just like everything else he did.

“Gah!” he shouted in pain when a particularly large splinter lodged itself between two of his knuckles. Fucking trees.

Cradling his injured hand, he plucked the sliver of bark out with his teeth and spat the infernal thing into the grass. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, his skull resting on the uncomfortable trunk for a minute before his clothed back slid down to the base of the tree. He nestled his head into his bent knees and sniffled, his hands gripping too tightly at his calves as his dirty fingernails dug crescent-shaped indentations into the fabric of his jeans.

Fucking bastard! Fucking sick, greedy, gloating, disgusting bastard! Had the man not taken enough from him already? He supposed Freddy already took his innocence—so to speak—a long time ago. But this was so much different than before. Worse than before, and that fact alone made the ordeal impossible to stomach.

Quentin reached for his cross pendant and clutched it tightly in his fisted palms. He had to stay strong, desperately wanted to, but this latest torture greatly shook him at his core. He idly wondered what this meant going forward. Was he going to be hurt again? Raped again? Was there really no hope for him at all?

For once he decided to be selfish and pray for himself. For a future without pain and suffering. For a life free of stress and sadness. He scoffed silently at how ridiculous his requests sounded. It was doubtful that his prayers were even being heard but what else was there left for him to do? It gave him comfort. Or perhaps it was just the necklace itself which gave him comfort, the warm and happy memories attached to it—both the cross pendant and the medallion.

Grasping both the medallion and cross painful hard, he laid down sideways on a propped up tree root. Sniffling silently, he finally succumbed to his despair and allowed what remained of his tears to flow freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly sorry Quentin but the plot is a very demanding entity.


	18. Mending Those Bonds

Not wishing to linger around the fire for too long, nor wanting to hear Feng explaining the gruesome details of their latest trial to the others, David patted a somber Nea on the shoulder and slinked away into the surrounding trees. Since he was far too depressed for sleep and not in desperate need of a bath, David decided to seek out Dwight and Claudette to ensure their fellow leader was doing okay. While he was not actually present to witness Dwight’s apparent torture, the aftermath he stumbled upon was incredibly unsettling. Now David threw punches and beat people black and blue frequently during the course of his life, but he was never deliberately cruel about it and he certainly never cut off limbs or anything. Just thinking about it—the image still vivid in his brain—caused his stomach to protest, the organ feeling as though it was participating in a gymnastics competition with all the backflips it was doing.

“Dammit,” he hissed when his foot snagged on a tree root.

Why had he not lit a torch for this? Even with all the plants and mushrooms lighting the way, it was always fairly dark away from their primary light source. He knew this fact well enough by now yet he rarely remembered to do anything about it. Oh well. He was not up for making the trek back and getting one if it meant having to stick around for any potential scrutiny.

David assumed Feng was going to tell Bill, Ace, and Meg about his near fight with Quentin and, if she did, he was keen on avoiding whatever ensued from that. He needed no reminder of how badly he screwed up. Again.

David liked to believe that it was not entirely his fault, that his outburst was justified. After all, whatever Quentin was hiding was clearly bothering him and revealing it should assuage the teen’s burden. And probably everyone else’s worry for the boy. Yet Laurie sowed the seeds of doubt into his mind, and his worry then took a backseat while his forceful actions weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Speaking of the babysitter, he really needed to apologize to her too. His attitude at the fire made things difficult, created unnecessary tension where none should have even existed, and now he had to correct his mistakes. Boy he could really go for a stiff pint to alleviate his stress. It felt as though he did nothing these days save for mend broken bonds. Behave like a good lad and you won’t have to, his inner voice interjected in the most annoyingly helpful manner. He really despised that voice.

“Huh?” David muttered in confusion when two figures lying on the ground came into view.

Creeping in to get a closer look, the dull aero blue light revealed a sleeping Dwight and Claudette. The sight eased his troubled gut some and brought a small smile to his lips. There they were, the both of them snuggling in each other’s arms with the botanist spooning the leader tightly. Dwight had mentioned going to rest but he did not think the other would. Guess Claudette saw to it well enough if the little snores the leader was emitting were of any indication. Careful to avoid disturbing the pair, David quietly tiptoed out of the vicinity.

Smirking to himself in response to the pleasant scene, David set out in search for Laurie. He recalled that the babysitter liked hanging around the forested regions in between the various ponds scattered about. Something to do with the wind, the meager breeze here feeling more enjoyable or whatever. It was probably a little detail he should have paid more attention to at the time given how difficult it was to recollect. Regardless, he knew where she disappeared to and, going by that knowledge and his knowledge of the nearby ponds, he should be able to guestimate her location.

He supposed he could simply call out to her, but there were reasons deterring him from doing so. And not just him but with the others as well. Unless it was an emergency or something along those lines, they rarely called out to each other in the woods. Everyone agreed that, unless specified, someone venturing into the forested area indicated that said person, or persons, desired privacy. Whether that was to: sleep; bathe; contemplate life; punch trees; have sex; pick flowers; cry; run laps; or indulge in some peace and quiet. Whatever the reason, they all did their best to abide by the unofficial rule. Besides, like Dwight and Claudette, Laurie too might be getting a little shut-eye and who was he to deny her that luxury.

Aside from their memories, dreams were probably the only other thing capable of bringing them happiness in this dark, unforgiving world. David felt his lips twist into a stupid grin, his musings drudging up a recent dream to the forefront of his mind. It was a short and simple dream, but a nice one: everyone here was sitting around the campfire just laughing and smiling. There were no killers or trials, no worries or fears. Just laughter and joy; it was beyond sappy. He wondered if it was not completely impossible to make that dream a reality. Sure there existed quality moments but they never lasted long and, as of late, they were few and far between.

David paused for a moment to smack a sideways fist on a slim tree trunk, the bark slightly splintering from his brute strength. Was this world finally starting to kill them all? On the inside? While they were torturing themselves with meaningless drama, the killers and trials continued to take their toll on them. Break them down. Poor Dwight was a perfect example of this but the others too had their fair share of breakdowns. Just recently he caught Ace crying alone in the forest. It was a rare discovery and one he never thought he would witness. The gambler always paraded around with such wit and tenacity, his silver tongue only adding to his enthusiasm. But apparently appearance only went skin deep, and surely Ace was not the only one. Laurie was good at hiding her emotions, and so were Bill and Jake. How long would it be before they all crack, before this place finally swallows what remains of their hope?

Shaking his skull violently from side-to-side, he gave the innocent trunk one final punch before pressing onward. He was not going to obsess over it. Not now. Now was not the time to delve into a depressive rut. Things had to get better, they just had to, and he was going to help it along as best he could. He was tired of sitting on his ass and merely waiting for things to change for the better.

“David?” a feminine voice rang out.

Cranking his neck towards the sound, David was met with both Jake and Laurie sitting on the ground looking up at him. Once again his awareness of his surroundings failed him. At least they were not sleeping. Wait, what were they doing together? Did he accidently intrude on some private moment?

“I uh… hey. I-I didn’t mean ta interrupt,” David stammered out with his hands raised in the air. “I was just lookin’ for Laurie but I can c—”

“It’s alright David,” Laurie assured. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, I-I see. Umm,” David hesitated. He really should have thought of something decent to say for this moment. “I just wanted ta apologize to ya for wha’ I said before. I was outta line.”

Laurie sighed, her hands fumbling around in her lap, and softly replied, “No. You weren’t outta line.”

“No?”

“I’m a hypocrite,” the babysitter blurted out.

A hypocrite? What in the world was she talking about? “Yer no ‘ypocrite lass.”

“Yes I am!” she strongly argued, one hand rising to rest delicately against her breast. “Like you, I wanna know what Quentin’s been hiding from us. And, like you, I’ve… I’ve been trying to get the information outta him.”

“Wha’?” He felt his combative side flaring in an instant, his temperature spiking right alongside it as he angrily shouted, “And ya got the nerve ta lecture me ‘bout my actions!”

“David,” Jake lowly uttered in warning, the man’s voice briefly distracting him from the rage beginning to overtake his consciousness.

“I haven’t been beating it outta him,” she pointedly stressed while her robin egg blue eyes glimmered fiercely in the poor light, “but I’ve been probing. Asking subtle questions, commenting on his behaviour.” Jake grasped Laurie’s hand when she lowered her head towards her crossed legs and mumbled, “I even opened up to him about my past hoping that he’d open up to me.”

“Y-Yer past?” David muttered without thought to which he attempted to cover by coughing nervously. Despite his intrigue, her past was none of his business.

“I… I guess I should probably elaborate,” Laurie sighed out with Jake looking at the young woman gloomily all the while.

What? She made this big stink about respecting privacy only to suddenly turn back on her own words? He growled, his posture going rigid as he spat, “Oh wha’? Ya finally up ‘n’ decide ta talk ‘bout y—”

“David,” the saboteur stated with a cool heat, “shut up.”

Gritting his teeth, David clenched his hands at his sides and began taking a series of deep breaths. His body stood strong and awaited a potential battle. Fists shook slightly in impatience, both limbs just itching to plant themselves into Park’s stoic face. Yet he resisted. For now.

Laurie, with cautious eyes observing him like a hawk, waited several long seconds before speaking. “You know that I was brought here with The Shape?”

David puffed out a breath through his nostrils and tightly nodded in response. She mentioned being dragged here with her brother, a brother coincidently that desired nothing more than her death.

“What you don’t know,” she emphasized, “is that he killed my friends. Several others... nice people just trying to help. Anyone that stood in his path was a target, and that path was to me.”

There were a few tears accumulating in her orbs now yet her face remained fierce. The sight had David gulping down a thick lump in his suddenly narrow throat.

“It was torture,” she continued, “watching them die or finding them already _butchered._ ”

Thanks to these horrific trials he was forced into, David had seen and experienced how ghastly death could be. And those deaths playing out countless times only made matters worse. He typically ignored things like this occurring in the real world. If it did not happen to him, then why should he be bothered?

“Before I found myself here,” Laurie started again, “I had just learned that I was adopted, that I had a mentally unstable brother.” Those piercing, watery eyes focused on him once more as she declared, “That brother was Michael Myers: the very man trying to kill me.”

“Is ‘at why The Shape’s so obsessed with ya?” David questioned out of the blue. “‘Cause yer siblings?”

“I... I honestly don’t know,” the babysitter admitted dejectedly. “I just know that he’s dangerous and deadly, and always saves me for last in trials.”

Not really knowing how to respond to her suffering and loss, David took the simplest route by offering the babysitter his sympathies. “I’m really sorry lass. I-I neva knew—”

“I’m fine,” Laurie uttered curtly, “but it’s because of my connection with Michael that I understand what’s going on with Quentin.”

“‘Cause ya both came here with killers you knew,” he repeated her words from earlier on.

“Yes. But it’s a bit different with Quentin and The Nightmare,” she stated and rose to her feet. “All my trauma, all those deaths, they all happened in one night. One single night.” Laurie paused to sniffle, her posture appearing unusually vulnerable. Jake, perhaps sensing her distress, retook the babysitter’s hand into his own from his place on the ground. Laurie briefly acknowledged the contact, a ghost of a smile grazing her lips as she said, “Before that I never saw Michael Myers or even knew we were related. Quentin though... it’s obvious that he’s known The Nightmare for a long time.”

“Why’d ya think ‘at?” he inquired curiously.

The babysitter gave him a deadpanned look while uttering, “You’ve been in trials with both The Nightmare and Quentin. You’ve seen it for yourself. He... toys with Quentin, purposely goes out of his way to mess with him. He hurts us to hurt Quentin, or only goes after him and ignores the rest of us.”

David thinks back to their past trial and he could not help but agree with Laurie’s observations. Dwight’s death assuredly was horrific and excruciating, and Quentin reacted terribly to it. It was probably the reaction Krueger was hoping for too. Why else would the man string the boy up without cutting him to ribbons? And why go after Dwight in the first place? Sadly only Quentin knew the whole story about what transpired in that basement. A great many things still did not piece together correctly in his mind, the mental puzzle providing him with nothing but a throbbing headache.

David sighed tiredly, a hand rubbing at his sweaty forehead, and then voiced, “I’ve noticed. But I’m gonna do wha’ I can ta ‘elp Quen even if the stubborn bastard refuses to talk. I’m not leavin’ ‘im alone with ‘at wanker again.”

Laurie nodded firmly and said, “Neither will I.”

“Agreed,” Jake added, a serious look of determination forming on his face.

“For now I think I could go for nice swim,” she declared, abruptly shifting away from the original conversation. “I’ll leave you boys to chat.”

Laurie swiftly departed from the area without even sticking around to hear their comments. David knew the swimming part was probably somewhat true but he also assumed the young woman needed some time to recover from revealing a sensitive part of her past.

“Right then,” David randomly spoke, an awkward tension settling over the pair. Even the wind seemed to die off completely. Hopefully it did not imply some warning over what was to come. “Guess I sh—”

“Sit down David,” Jake simply said while eyeing the vacant, grassy spot beside him.

Coughing nervously once more, David obliged, grunting only minimally while trying to shift into a comfortable position. Once his long legs were dealt with, Jake began with an apology of his own.

“I apologize for my harsh words from a while back.”

“Ya don’t gotta apologize for ‘at,” he said in all seriousness. “The ‘greedy predator’ bit was pretty accurate.”

“Nevertheless,” the saboteur voiced softly, “I’m sorry. You’re... you’re a predator but not like the ones we face. You have heart.”

“I... ” he trailed off un-intellectually, not entirely sure what to say. “Thanks.”

Another silence ensued, and David had half a mind to simply leave things as they were until Jake spoke again.

“What were your goals in life David?”

Now that was a random question. “Huh?”

“Your goals in life,” the saboteur reiterated slowly. “What’d you desire to do with your life?”

“Oh, I uh tried gettin’ inta professional rugby. Didn’t work out though.”

Why was the saboteur asking about this though? He had thought his numerous stories about his life told around the campfire already spoke for his life goals.

Thinking of the sport now, he really did cherish rugby. It was one of the only times where his violent nature could be unleashed without serious repercussions. And the pure adrenaline rush from pummeling the opposing team on the field was an extra bonus. However, as usual, his temper got the best of him and ruined his chances of ever pursuing the sport at a professional level.

“Your temper,” Jake deduced in an instant. Bloody smartass.

“Ya,” he replied with a shrug, “but I ‘ad betta things ta do.”

Jake was quiet again, his expression suggesting that the man was deep in thought. “Is that so,” the survivalist muttered in a monotone voice.

What the hell was ‘is that so’ supposed to mean? Was the guy mocking him? “Ya got a problem with ‘at?”

“I used to,” Jake declared, “but not any longer.”

“Why?” David questioned slowly.

The saboteur side-eyed him critically for a moment before he stated, “Our backgrounds are fairly similar.”

“Oh?”

“We both came from wealth. We both had immense opportunities thrust upon us.”

“Ya,” David answered and nodded along in equal parts confusion and intrigue as to where the conversation was headed. “Wha’ ‘bout it?”

“You had the opportunity to do more with your life, you had the... the academic prowess.” If David were a betting man, he would have sworn the words ‘academic prowess’ were uttered in disgust. Though maybe his ears were tricking him. “Yet you just threw that all away. And for what?” Jake asked, his voice raising an octave. “Drinking and fighting?”

Scrunching up his face in annoyance, David seethed, “I didn’t fuckin’ thr—”

“Why didn’t you try harder? Why‘d you _give up?!_ ”

David was taken aback by Jake’s sudden and shocking outburst. The saboteur currently had daggers for eyes, his obsidian orbs displaying a frightening level of emotion—more than David had ever seen before.  Why did his past bother Jake so greatly? And how the hell did it turn into some sort of conduit for rage? He did not understand the purpose of this perplexing conversation one bit. Nevertheless, he was not about to be lectured for his life choices—even if they were not the most glamorous.

“I didn’t give up,” David voiced slowly while desperately trying to keep his tone free of anger. “I just chose a different path ta take.”

Jake mumbled something too quiet to hear, his gaze shifting towards a patch of flowers near their feet. Just what in the world was running through this guy’s head?

“Why’s ‘is bother you? It’s not ev—”

“I wasn’t the academic type, wasn’t the honourable and respected son,” the other spat hatefully. “I... I couldn’t handle it, couldn’t do it.” Jake took a moment to wipe vigorously at his eyes before he continued. Was he crying?

“I was jealous of you,” the survivalist admitted, “for accomplishing what I was incapable of.” The dangerous glint returned to Jake’s shimmering orbs as he finally locked gazes with the scrapper. “Then I _loathed_ you for disregarding it. Everything you did, all that work, just thrown away as if it meant nothing to you.”

David was unable to force himself to speak. He was far too stunned about the jealousy part, never realising that the Jake Park had actually been envious of him.

“Your attitude disgusted me. Your violent outbursts even more so,” the man raddled off. “You acted like a spoiled child, did whatever you pleased without accepting proper consequences.”

David, though mildly insulted at being put down, simply allowed the guy to continue venting his inner pain. Clearly this was a difficult topic for him to discuss and, if David had any restraint within his body, he would remain calm and quiet.

“And somehow… somehow you changed,” Jake trailed off wordlessly.

Admittedly David was a little upset by the other male’s surprised tone. It almost sounded as though the saboteur thought he was incapable of changing. Or, worse still, that the man did not want him to change. The prospect irked him yet David refused to relinquish control to his rage-filled counterpart. And was it ever tempting to just sit back and allow the boiling anger within him to deal with this aggravating situation. He still was not adept at handling emotional confrontation well, and taking the easier route was an option which floated around in his mind all the time. Yet David resisted once again and chose to level with the saboteur.

This was a special occasion after all: it was the first time he could actually relate to Jake.

“I’m not exactly an ‘onourable ‘n’ respected son either,” he claimed.

David recalled his parents with relative sadness. His father was uncaring about anything he ever did in life and simply threw money at him left and right in order keep the ‘family burden’ happy. As long as David stayed away from the distinguished parent, his father was content. His mother on the other hand cared deeply for him, and even more so after she heard of his lifetime ban from a supposedly promising career. It hurt him knowing that he was hurting her with his choice in lifestyle after the fact. So, in order to spare them both from emotional agony, he distanced himself from her. Ignored several of her calls, chose not to attend select outings. Anything to avoid the only person who truly loved him as he was.

The sad truth of the matter was that David was afraid to love. Caring was one thing, and even that was hard to do, but love was a completely different beast. Love hurt, and its vicious bite was infinitely worse than any physical blow. His love for his mother, for example, ravaged his insides to the point where he wished to have his guts violently ripped from his sternum. Instead, to alleviate the pain, he drank on a near constant basis or fought tooth and nail until the ache no longer chewed at his insides like flimsy tissue paper.

Here though there was no alcohol to dull the pain and potential brawling opponents were far scarcer than before. He was spiralling out of control, but he was glad to have smartened up a bit.

To this moment, he was still quite fearful of the concept of love, feared the inevitable pain it would cause. But if his friends here had taught him anything, it was that emotional pain—no matter how unbearable—had significant worth. It brought each of them closer together, filling in the invisible gaps of misunderstanding. And this was exactly the case now with Jake.

“And being ‘ere ‘as opened my eyes a wee bit. People ‘ere taught me ‘ow shite my behaviour’s been. ‘ow my temper ‘as... ”

His temper had been discussed enough and, quite frankly, he was sick of hearing it. Instead, he skipped the repetitive nonsense and cut to the hard facts—the only aspects which truly mattered here.

“I stood by my choices back ‘en. I still do now,” David admitted in earnest, “but I do wonder wha’ mighta ‘appened if I didn’t lamp ‘at referee. If I ‘ad made a name for myself in rugby or if I got some fancy corporate job.”

“And?” Jake bit out, the man sounding uncharacteristically impatient.

“And it wasn’t nice to be completely ‘onest.”

“Why not?”

“Ain’t my pint of lager so ta speak,” he confessed while chuckling at his own metaphor. “At the time, if I ‘ad done somethin’ like ‘at ‘en I probably wouldn’t ‘ave been a very ‘appy man. Successful sure, but not ‘appy.”

“But you were happy drowning in alcohol and bruises?” the survivalist inquired skeptically.

“Ya, I was.” And there was no greater truth than that.

Jake simply raised a subtle eyebrow at him, released a short puff of breath and uttered, “You... you’re really strange.”

“Look who’s talkin’,” David shot back without any heat.

“I respect you for standing by your beliefs… even if they make little sense to me,” the survivalist added with a shake of his head.

David chuckled at that and bumped shoulders with Jake before he said, “Y’know, yer not so bad mate.”

Jake jabbed his elbow into the scrapper’s side and replied, “Likewise.” David normally would have been enraged by such a strike if not for the little, playful grin present on the saboteur’s face.

“Besides, with your temper,” Jake piped up after a short pause, “your little fights with Quentin make more sense now.”

Now it was his turn to offer the saboteur a raised eyebrow and ask, “‘ow so?”

Jake gave him the slyest smirk possible—another baffling expression to witness—and uttered, “People tend to be more reckless and emotional with the ones they love.”

“L-Love?” David sputtered with wide eyes. “Oh for—Not you too!”

“You called him lo—”

“I know I bloody did you... y-you arse!” he stammered our indignantly, heat slowly building in his cheeks.

“It’s none of my business,” Jake said with that stupidly sly smirk still present, “but you better not hurt him regardless.”

“I already did ‘urt ‘im,” David mumbled sadly, head lowering ever so slightly.

“More than once,” Jake added, throwing even more salt onto the scrapper’s open wounds. “I’m not thrilled about that fact.”

“No kid—”

“And it probably won’t be the last time you hurt him either.”

“I... ” David went to deny the other but found his voice suddenly absent. Would he end up hurting the teen again? Given their peculiar friendship, anything was possible. “I hope not,” he finished quietly.

“Just don’t beat him to d—”

“No!” David immediately roared in disgust while jumping to his feet. “‘at’ll never ‘appen again!”

The saboteur hummed, the noise not terribly indicative of anything, and then uttered, “I know.”

Jake stood abruptly and made to leave before turning back to face the scrapper.

“Whatever you decide, I wish you luck. See you later David.”

Without a second glance, the man offered him a haphazard wave and then disappeared into the darkness.

That was it? This almost seemed too simple, too convenient. Was this another one of Jake’s unspoken, judgemental tests? Probably not. It was at least comforting to know that the guy was not going to be glaring at him consistently anymore. Perhaps there was hope for a friendship between them yet.

What was he doing? He still had to find Quentin and apologize. He quickly brushed off the dirt and grass which clung loosely to his jeans and made to leave only to freeze, his eyebrows knitting in contemplation. Quentin did not have a favoured spot around the area. He tended to avoid ponds, for some unknown reason, and he could be anywhere by now.

Blindly searching for him might take a while, and there was a higher chance of him being summoned for a trial than finding the boy. It honestly was a miracle, or just plain coincidence, that he was able to stumble upon the people he did.

Deciding to ignore the slim chances, David set out into the forest in search for Quentin. He had nothing better to do with his time anyways. If nothing else, he was getting some decent cardio in. Meg would be so proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Laurie’s background, since her lore in Dead by Daylight is incredibly vague, I have it where she is abducted by the Entity—along with Michael—at the end of the second movie after Laurie observes a flaming Michael collapse “dead” in the hospital corridor. Before this moment, when Laurie reunites with Dr. Loomis and Marion Chambers, Marion briefly reveals to Laurie—much to the doctor’s irritation—the blood tie she shares with Michael after Loomis shoots Michael “dead” in the hospital entryway and Laurie asks why the man is so obsessed with her.


	19. Something Will Give

An incalculable amount of time blew by, and Quentin had yet to muster up the confidence to return to the campfire. Everything that had transpired in his previous trial was too unbearable to stomach. He tried his damnedest to brush off the whole experience, to shove the wretched event to the darkness recesses of his mind. But the infernal memory chose to linger, powerful and nauseating, like the pungent stench of cigarette which always clung to Bill’s clothes no matter how often the elder rinsed and scrubbed them.

To make matters worse, he was abnormally fatigued. Despite his extensive experience fighting against sleep deprivation, he had never felt more exhausted than he did now. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had not fallen asleep shambling about aimlessly in the forest. Yet. Sadly, he was still plagued by micro-naps and it seemed as though their frequency was increasing as time passed. He did not know how much longer he could last. Willpower only carried him so far hence he occasionally had to resort to different, more desperate measures. Stabbing a broken piece of bark into his pale skin did the trick well enough though he wished there was a better way. God did he ever miss sleeping. Even a nice little power nap was acceptable. He was not about to shoot down any option if it resulted in some much deserved slumber.

When he was not obsessing over sleep and the demon residing in his dreams, Quentin thought of his friends. Every now and then he came across some of the others in the woods though he made sure to hide his presence. He was ill prepared to face them again, to plaster on his usual happy smile and pretend everything was peachy.

Sometimes he witnessed his friends being whisked away by the ever-constant fog rolling through the area—he hoped his next turn was far off. Otherwise though, most of the others partook in various activities to pass the time. Bill, for example, merely rested against whatever tree he apparently deemed comfortable and stared blankly into the darkened sky. And then the veteran would fall asleep, head dipping down while his precious cancer stick dangled loosely from his lips. A simple activity but a pleasant looking one nonetheless.

Dwight and Claudette followed the elder’s example except with a bit of conversation and cuddling thrown in. Watching Dwight regain fragments of his old self had him internally cheering. Their leader’s progress was gradual but noticeable, and Quentin prayed Dwight would eventually rise above the ordeal he endured. Claudette certainly expedited the healing process and, for that, he was eternally grateful. He doubted anyone else other than the botanist could have done a better job.

Jake and Laurie frequently trekked into the forest as well to discuss miscellaneous things with one another. He refused to eavesdrop on their conversations—as they were probably private—though he always seemed to stumble upon them. There was even a time where he caught sight of a kiss they shared, the sweet gesture causing his heart to clench. It reminded him of his tender kiss with Nancy before she went to face the demon haunting their dreams. Yet even that memory was complicated and offered little comfort given how their efforts proved useless. Admittedly he had been a little envious of the pair, and every other couple here, but he was happy for them nonetheless. They certainly appeared to be a nice fit for each other and he hoped it worked out for them no matter what horrors the future held.

Meg occasionally ran laps, a familiar coping mechanism for her, to which Nea interrupted several times by sneaking up on the runner and embracing her mid-sprint. Those sneak attacks led to playful bickering and shoves which then shifted to kissing and sex. He left the pair when the kissing started; he was not some depraved perv seeking gratification. He highly doubted he had the stamina to gratify himself even if he wanted to. Though just the thought of a certain someone touching him immediately starved off any potential interest.

Ace and Feng popped up in the woods twice, and both times the two of them were together playing some peculiar card games. He never quite understood the nature of their game until it ended and the winner reaped the reward: a sexual favour. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he had observed Ace going down on Feng after losing. Thankfully he had managed to hightail it out of there without drawing their attention but his face had burned in embarrassment for what felt like hours. It was an unexpected outcome and one he made doubly sure to avoid the second time around. Perhaps it was intended as a stress release or they were merely friends with benefits. At least they too seemed happy.

Still, it did bother him to watch such acts of affection and passion. In all honesty, his friends had it easy. While he knew they likely dealt with their fair share of troubles, they all appeared to have relatively healthy relationships. Seeing them enjoying each other’s company the way they did somehow continually reminded him of his predicament.

All he had to look forward to was Freddy, the most consistent and abusive person in his life right now. But it was something he had accepted a long time ago. After all, Freddy chose to come after him, and he chose to fight back. It was what it was though he now found himself questioning whether the sacrifice was worth it. To ensure the safety of everyone else, he certainly hoped it was.

And then there was David. Having watched the man wander around senselessly for the third time, he had finally realized the scrapper was looking for him. Unlike the others, however, David persisted with his search for far longer. It pained him to allow the other male’s pointless hunt to continue especially when he did not wish to be found. He strongly believed he would be capable of returning to the fire, but right now he had an unfortunate and horrific situation to overcome. Since he knew his friends were unable to help him with something like this, there was little point in telling them. Though he supposed he was already worrying then by voluntarily isolating himself, and he eventually would be dragged into a trial again. He was not going to be able to avoid them forever.

Even now, David was out once more scouring the forest for him. This time however the scrapper was calling out for him, the voice laced with what sounded like dejection. After a while David came to a halt with his head turning in every which direction. The sight of the man’s shoulders slumping in defeat saddened him. It ravaged his heart, as if The Hag was gouging out the organ from his chest cavity, and the painful ache emitting from there was too persistent to block out. He had to put a stop to this.

“David,” he voiced while stepping out from behind his protective cover that was a mossy tree trunk. At the sound of his name, the man turned and offered him a bright smile as his hazel-green eyes lit up alongside the fluorescent plants.

“Quentin!” David yelled with relief, the scrapper jogging to stand before him. “Christ’s sake, where the ‘ell ‘ave you been?”

“Around,” he responded evasively with a shrug.

The other male’s eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance, and Quentin mildly shrunk back from the heated scowl directed at him. “Are ya bloody kiddin’ me?”

“I’ve been hanging around in the woods,” Quentin elaborated for no real reason. “I just... needed some time to myself.”

“It wouldn’t ‘ave killed you ta check in with us,” David stated after sighing, his muscled arm extending outward to reach for Quentin. “You’ve been g—”

“Don’t!” he shouted fearfully, slapping the meaty hand to the side and backing away from the other. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!”

Why did he do that? Quentin had not intended to lash out like that or sound so aggressive. His body just reacted. While he knew the scrapper was probably not going to harm him, he was unable to turn off his panic switch. That single brush of skin against his own made him tremble with fear. His flight or fight instinct kicked into overdrive and his eyes saw nothing but danger. A rapid mantra of ‘do not touch me’ and ‘do not come any closer’ repeated in his brain, the phrases overlapping and drowning out all other rational thoughts.

“O-Okay, okay...” David quietly said, hands raising in the air as the man slowly put some respectable distance between them. “I’m not touchin’.”

A tense moment ensued, his intermittent ragged breaths breaking through the silence as he attempted to calm himself. David cleared his throat nervously and decided to speak up. “Listen, ‘bout earlier, I... I’m sorry ‘bout grabbin’ ya and forcin’ the truth outta you. You can be a real stubborn little bastard, but I shouldn’t ‘ave pried.”

Quentin quirked an eyebrow in confusion before his panicked brain finally drudged up the associated memory. He had nearly forgotten about his prior confession. “Don’t worry ab—”

“If it’s any consolation,” David interjected, a hand reaching around to scratch at the back of his skull. “Laurie gave me some... perspective. Well, a few of us actually. ‘at lass’s mighty terrifyin’ sometimes.”

“Laurie what?”

“She opened our eyes ta wha’ you guys are goin’ through,” the scrapper declared. “Told us ‘bout her relation to The Shape. Apparently sh—”

“I know about it,” Quentin cut in, his mind processing the news rather poorly. He never thought the babysitter would disclose such a traumatic event in her life to everyone. His voice dropped to a whisper as he uttered, “Never thought she’d tell everyone though.”

David chuckled awkwardly and then replied, “Neither did I.”

“A-Anyways,” he stuttered, “apology accepted David. I’ll see you later.”

He tried to leave but was stopped by the sound of David speaking again. “Aren’t ya gonna come back to the fire?” the scrapper inquired, a frown tugging at the other’s scarred lips.

“Not right now,” Quentin responded curtly. He really disliked that pained look the other was wearing. “You don’t have to look for me again either. I can find my way back on my own just fine.”

“Look f—Wait!” David said, his frown quickly morphing back into a scowl as his eyes shone threateningly in the aero blue lighting. “You knew I was out lookin’ for ya ‘is whole time?”

Oh shit; he screwed up. “Y-Yeah but I—”

“Why didn’t ya say somethin’ sooner?!” the brute demanded, arms waving around in an exaggerated fashion.

“‘Cause I wanted to be _alone_.” Why was that so hard for David to understand?

“So ya can brood?” David hotly asked. “Avoid somethin’ ya don’t wanna deal with?”

Growling, he felt his cheeks flush with warmth as he spat, “That’s not wh—”

“Why d’ya always run away?!”

“I don’t!”

“Oh, really?” David questioned sarcastically while closing the gap between the two of them once more.

Quentin was too irritated to succumb to his fear, and stood his ground to declare, “You have no fucking idea what I’m dealing with right now!”

“Really? ‘Cause it seems ta me yer just havin’ some sort of tantrum out here. Or goin’ through puberty,” David stated matter-of-factly and Quentin could not believe his ears. “Bitchin’ and complainin’—”

“You’re the one that’s bitching and complaining!”

“—‘bout every little thing and ‘en buggerin’ off ta cry ‘bout it when it don’t—”

“Shut up! This is none of your business David!”

“—work out. You’re nothin’ but a bloody child constantly cryin’ for attention.”

Quentin gasped at the last bit, his body going stock-still from shock. Tears pooled in his orbs just thinking over the other’s words, the statement so reminiscent of Freddy’s comment about him being an attention whore. Fucking asshole!

Gritting his teeth and snarling in utter rage, Quentin balled up a tight, shaky fist and swiftly struck it across David’s left cheek. The man barely reacted save for his head snapping briefly to the side from the impact. David sported a mild look of surprise before it gradually ebbed into a crazed, unsettling smile.

“‘at all ya got?” the scrapper asked and then promptly shoved Quentin unceremoniously to the ground. “The girls can throw a punch betta ‘an ‘at.”

Enraged, Quentin rose up and faked another swing. He might not be as built or as well versed in close combat as David was, but he did not need to be. All he needed to do was use the man’s gigantic size against him.

When David went to block, just as he anticipated, Quentin ducked under the scrapper’s guard and pitched himself forward to get behind the man. Before David could veer around fully, he kicked hard at the back of the brute’s shins. It felt as though he was trying to kick a lead pipe or something, but his blows did the trick all the same. David fell forward, bracing himself on his hands and knees to avoid plummeting to the ground. Following up on his successful strategy, Quentin drove his foot into the back of the man’s skull, the force strong enough to finally knock David flat on his stomach. He went to straddle the other, to try to keep the man from getting back up, but his legs were abruptly swept out from underneath him. He grunted in pain as the wind was momentarily knocked out of his lungs and his beanie slipped off into the grass. Then, before he was able to gather his bearings, a red-faced David was on him, the large man practically squashing him into the ground with his thighs.

“Get offa me!” Quentin screamed, his current position reminding him too much of his recent nightmare. His earlier panic resurfaced when his attempts to break free proved futile. He tried punching David, and he actually managed to draw blood, yet his blows appeared to do nothing greater save for anger the man further. When his fists failed, he utilized a dirtier tactic. His fingers joined in to claw viciously at the scrapper’s eyes while his legs thrashed wildly. “Get of—”

A solid fist connecting with his jaw stopped his protests dead in their tracks. Two more powerful blows soon followed and Quentin began experiencing a sense of déjà vu, this fight becoming nearly identical of that from the trial with Myers in the Gas Heaven realm. He felt several bruises blossoming over his face accompanied by the repulsive, and terribly familiar, taste of iron coating his tongue. His head started to spin as his poor ears rang from the unforgiving punches.

As David prepared yet another fist, he squeezed his eyelids shut and hastily voiced, “Y-You promised!”

He knew not of any other method to quell the man’s rage other than to remind David of his promise. A pause ensued and Quentin cracked a swollen eye open to witness several emotions flash across the scrapper’s face. None of which he was able to place with certainty.

“I did,” David agreed quietly, his fist lowering just a touch, “but you ‘aven’t kept yer promise. So I got no reason ta keep mine.”

Guilt washed through his system, the emotion mixing uneasily with the anger and fear currently pumping through his veins. He knew he was not doing well by his promise, but he saw no beneficial reason to burden his friends with his problems.

Despite the warning present in the brute’s words, David did indeed stop and slowly rose upright. “Don’t matter anyways,” the scrapper said while leaving him to pant on the cold dirt and grass. Quentin observed David retreat into the woods again but not before the man spat at the ground and stated, “Yer not worth the bloody effort.”

Then, just like that, David was gone. Quentin glared irritably at the spot where the scrapper disappeared. When he was unable to hear the shuffling of shoes against the ground, when he was sure the man was truly gone, he began collecting himself.

His face was so sore, the abused flesh likely bruised and very tender to the touch. Something else felt off too. Spitting a wad of bloody saliva to the side, he thrusted a filthy finger inside of his mouth. His short exploration confirmed that he was also missing a tooth too. Unbelievable. He was never going to catch a break from all the bullshit here was he?

He sighed as David’s parting words reverberated in his brain, their weight slowly beginning to sink in. It stung, like an open wound being dipped in hydrogen peroxide. This was a mistake. He should have never revealed himself.

Groaning in discomfort, his right hand rose to rest gently over top of his heart. Why did it ache so terribly here? It felt as though his heart had been pierced by Freddy’s knifes, the organ ceasing to beat as a hollow feeling washed over him. The sensation made it difficult to breathe while his stomach flipped repeatedly as if it were doing cartwheels in his torso. What was this feeling? He did not understand it.

Quentin blearily noticed the mist thickening around him along with a sudden drop in temperature. Yet all he thought of was David as he vanished in an icy shroud of darkness.

\--------------------

Given his unusual tiredness, his performance was significantly hindered this trial. The Entity was gracious enough to heal most of the damage caused by David and his massive fists but, like before, the phantom pain still smarted something fierce.

If that was not annoying enough, Freddy would not leave him alone. Nearly every time his weary eyes drooped, the bastard was there being a bane to his existence. So far the dream demon had manipulated his mind into believing blood and bits of flesh were spewing from a generator he had attempted to repair. Another cheap antic on Freddy’s part yet he still panicked from the illusion, his fingers faltering and causing the machine to explode. Then he had received a shallow slash to his backside while hiding from The Huntress. Fortunately he had managed to stifle his cries of pain and those loathsome claws only cut through the fabric of his vest. But he was more than a little vexed for having to outmaneuver two killers.

“Gah!” he yelled in agony. Great, and now The Huntress was back to drop him on his ass.

He hastily hobbled to the safety of a pallet only to hear no heavy footfalls in pursuit. Glancing back, he caught a glimpse of the killer kicking his precious generator and resetting its progress. He grumbled under his breath at the loss especially after struggling so hard to stay awake in order to repair the stupid thing. It peeved him that all of the killers were capable of dishing out so much damage with so little effort. Getting his head back in the game, Quentin winced when he yanked out the hatchet lodged in his back. He was grateful these things did not normally sink in too deep.

A low growl had him looking around in fright. Then, a hatchet whizzed passed his nose and imbedded itself in the wooden wall beside him. Gasping in surprise, he sprang into action and ran through the intricate wooden maze. Reaching a branching point in the maze, a unique plan formed in his mind. He swiftly shrugged out of his tattered vest and dropped it near the passage to the right. If he left his vest behind, The Huntress would surely investigate while he made his escape in the opposite direction.

Veering left, he rounded the corner and caught the briefest glimpse of metal before being instantly slashed across the face, the impact forcing him to collapse sideways.

He hissed through clenched teeth as he tenderly clutched his face with one palm, his torn flesh stinging sharply from the dirty grime rubbing in. What the hell just happened? Peering behind him, he observed as the hatchet-wielding killer closed in and hoisted him onto her burly shoulder. Fucking Freddy strikes again! The bastard delivered him right into The Huntress’s arms, and he was too exhausted to even notice anything amiss. These micro-naps were ruining everyone else’s chances of survival.

He emitted a pathetic shout as The Huntress deposited him on a hook in the corner of the realm. A loud ping resounding in the distance immediately diverted her attention away from him. That made four generators done. He would have been ecstatic if all of his teammates had survived up until this point.

Bill had perished first, the man putting his altruism to shame at the cost of warranting The Huntress’s ire. Feng was next, the gamer being cheeky enough to finish repairing a generator right in front of the killer. As a result, she was tunnelled relentlessly and received nothing more than an axe to the torso. His only teammate still alive was Jake and the saboteur, if he was smart, would let him perish here. It was not like his contributions this time around were helpful anyways, and he was just so tired. Trying to stay awake this trial taxed his mental state more so than ever. He had hoped fearing for his life or the occasional adrenaline rush would be sufficient in repelling the micro-naps. Not even close.

Quentin huffed in quiet frustration and he went to glare tiredly at The Huntress only to lock eyes with his worst nightmare.

“Fuck me,” he grumbled out, realizing only now that he had fallen asleep while dangling from the hook. It was not the first time this had happened and, sadly, would likely not be the last either.

Freddy’s miscoloured eyes sparkled with mirth as he sweetly said, “Is that an invita—”

“You know damn well it’s not!”

Stop shaking already, his mind all but commanded. He had to calm the fuck down. Even if he was asleep, the Entity would end his life sooner or later. Hence the dream demon would have very little opportunity to do anything sinister to him.

Freddy waved a single blade from side-to-side, a playful smirk forming on his burnt lips as he uttered, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Go away, seriously!” Quentin abruptly exclaimed, his hatred for Freddy providing him with a small boost of courage. “Do you have nothing better to do than harass me? I thought you had _friends_. Why don’t you fuck off and go pester them?”

At least he was able to rely on his mouth to deliver. His body on the other hand continued to display his inner anxiety. He prayed the dream demon would not notice but there was no way the man could not.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Freddy quipped back, “but I know you’ve missed me just as much as I’ve missed you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he mumbled spitefully under his breath. The man hurriedly shushed him.

“Oh f—” he attempted to say but a hand swiftly blocked his insult.

He made to struggle until he realized that the saboteur was the one before him now. Something wet hitting his hair had his eyes curiously rolling upward in their sockets. His inspection revealed a rusted hook swaying above him, the metal caked in his blood which now pelted his scalp in the form of tiny droplets.

Thank goodness! He was awake and alive. Wait, no, not thank goodness. If Jake was here then that meant the last generator was not being repaired.

Quentin tugged the hand over his mouth away and babbled, “You shouldn’t have saved me. The last gen—”

“I’ll take care of it,” the saboteur muttered speedily while tending to his shoulder injury.

It appeared as though Jake was not in the mood for talking which meant his protests were likely to be ignored too. Thus he remained crouched in silence and allowed the man to patch him up. He owed his life to his teammates this trial and that fact brought him great shame.

“J-Jake,” he spoke shakily, “I’m sorry about th—”

“You’re not sleeping,” the saboteur bluntly stated out of the blue. Jake then traced his facial slashes with critical and meaningful eyes. “And I guess you’re not gonna tell me what’s going on.” It came out more as a statement yet Quentin knew better. Jake wanted to know where the claw marks came from.

“Nothing’s going on,” he asserted a touch too quickly. This was not the time for some random interrogation. They needed to get the hell out of here.

Jake just sighed in irritation, his fingers securing the binding snuggly around his shoulder. Next the man produced a tiny jar of salve and gently pushed it into his palm.

“Stay outta sight,” Jake whispered.

Stay out of sight? No way was he going to allow Jake to fend for himself. “But I can h—”

“No,” the saboteur abruptly cut him off, “you can’t. You’re barely scraping by. Our survival depends on you staying put.”

Quentin hung his head sorrowfully at the survivalist’s words. They were harsh, as he expected, but justifiably so. He really had not done a single thing useful this trial. No generators were fully repaired by his hand, only regressed by his constant failure to pay attention. He aided none of his teammates either since everyone else beat him to the task. If anything, he damned them to death.

A tender hand found his unwounded shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and Quentin forced himself to peer up at the other male. What he saw was a mixed expression, something not quite happy and not quite sad. Then Jake offered him a small smile, and he was unnerved and depressed at the amount of worry hidden just beneath that carefully concocted expression.

“I’ll repair the last generator,” the saboteur stated in a gentle tone, his tone sounding as though he were trying to comfort a wounded and frightened animal. “Can you handle opening the gate?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered out while attempting to keep his voice from cracking. He hated how Jake phrased the question, as if the man did not trust him with such a simple task. He supposed that this was Jake’s only option of compromising with him.

The saboteur elegantly rose to his feet and examined the area for a moment before cranking his neck back towards him. “If you need to talk after this...” Jake said while leaving the statement open-ended. His obsidian eyes lingered for a second longer before the man stealthily maneuvered through the swamp.

Quentin willed himself not to break down then and there, tears welling in his eyes but not yet falling. That was that, and now there was no reason for him to stay here any longer. He doubted Jake would be thrilled if he decided to seek the other out. After all, he had his own task to attend to and, for the sake of Jake’s survival, he damn well better maintain a level head. Honestly a key would be ideal but he had no idea which chests had been searched already, and wasting time aimlessly looking around for one was not an option.

Not wanting to waste the salve this very minute, he stored the jar in his front jeans pocket for future use. His cuts were not terribly bad to warrant medical attention anyways. At least Freddy did not slice him in the eyes.

Rising on shaky legs, Quentin proceeded as carefully as he could around the edge of the realm. Gates randomly changed position but they always spawned at the edges. A mischievous bird cawing had him glaring at the feathered creature in annoyance. These obnoxious crows were bound to give away his location the longer he searched. How the hell did the saboteur avoid getting squawked at all the time?

A few metres further and he stumbled across a gate, the giant archway practically calling out to him. Standing beside the switch, his fingers traced the lever as he waited for Jake to finish the necessary repair work. As if on queue, the horn blared overhead and the switch flowed with electricity. Jake must have had one of the machines already partially repaired. That or the man was simply a genius when it came to connecting the appropriate wires together.

Grunting in exertion, Quentin yanked the lever down and watched the lights flare to life. Perspiration gradually formed on his brow the longer he waited for the sound of the lifesaving, final horn and screeching noise of the steel gate sliding open.

“Leaving so soon?” a gruff voice asked.

His eyes widened a fraction as he was forcibly pulled away from the door by the scruff of his neck. Shit, not again! The gate was not even open yet!

Blindly jabbing his elbow backwards, he eventually landed a successful blow and broke free from Freddy. He tried to gain some distance between him and the dream demon, but the man was faster. He quickly discovered this when he was brutally pushed into the muddy ground, the thick liquid seeping uncomfortably into his cuts.

Chuckles rang out close to his ear, the noises practically rolling off of Freddy’s tongue like velvet. “Isn’t recess fun? Playing around in the mud, making one hell of a mess. Wonder what other fun _messes_ we could make together...”

Okay, fuck this! Enough was enough! He was not about to tolerate this bullshit anymore.

Quentin hastily grabbed a lantern hanging off of a decayed, wooden post and smashed it across Freddy’s smiling face. Bet the fucker was not expecting that, and he certainly was happy to deliver. He was a little irked the man did not catch fire, but the shards of glass imbedded in Freddy’s face was pure gold. While the dream demon recovered from his surprise attack, Quentin tackled the other male to the ground and proceeded to wrap his filth-ridden palms around the man’s neck.

“You disgusting, perverted, old bastard! You ruin everything! Why won’t you just _die?!_ ” He squeezed with all his might, forcing every drop of his reserve strength to surface as he screamed, “JUST FUCKING DIE ALREADY!”

Wasted effort, his mind whispered to him. He knew well enough of the futility of his actions but what else was there to do? He was a fighter no matter what anyone said. And he was not about to surrender now. Especially when knew what would happen if he did.

Suddenly something coiled around his neck and yanked him away from the dream demon. His fingers clawed uselessly at the thick material choking the life out of him but it did not give. He was lifted into the air briefly before his back slammed into something solid, and then the mass around his windpipe tightened. Black spots danced across his vision as he gagged, the verge of blacking out increasing with every second of oxygen deprivation. Then the pressure abruptly relented and the constricting mass disappeared entirely.

After nearly coughing up a lung, he took a minute to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. He wished he had not when realized he was being suspended against some kind of a wooden wall by several fishing nets. One net restrained each of his wrists from the looks of it and another hung loosely from his neck. Guess it did not disappear entirely.

“Little shit!” the dream demon growled out, the man taking menacing strides towards his prone form.

Not good; Freddy was positively fuming. God what was the man going to do with him now? Hyperventilating, he went to kick Freddy when the man approached. Sadly his ankle was caught in a vice, the dream demon eyeing him venomously before those scary eyes shifted to observe his trembling leg with a strange fascination. An ungloved hand rolled up his pant leg while a finger ran teasingly over his exposed shin. Quentin shivered violently at the soft touch and shouted, “Let go! Get your fucking gross han—AHH!”

A sudden, horrid burning sensation erupted from below. The palm now coiled around his leg felt as though it was melting the flesh from his bones.

“You shouldn’t play with fire Quentin,” Freddy advised, his angry tone matching his murderous expression. “You might get _burned!_ ”

The heat intensified and he wailed in utter agony. The putrid stench of burning flesh reached his nostrils but his stomach did not even respond to the vomit-inducing stimulus. It hurts! Make it stop, make it stop! Please God make it _stop!_

A few more seconds of torture and then his leg was freed, the limb falling like dead weight and smacking against the wall. His screams died down into whimpers as tears streamed uncontrollably down his cheeks, the salty liquid mingling with the mud there to further aggravate his facial cuts. He barely noted Freddy ridding him of his T-shirt though he was in far too much pain to resist. Only when a mangled hand splayed over his smooth stomach did he flinch and squirm with abandon.

“No... no,” he whined out. “D-Don’t touch me.”

“But I wanna touch you...” the dream demon trailed off to sharply twist one of his nipples and forcing a cry from his sore throat. “I wanna burn my name into you until it _sticks_.”

Two hands rested over each of his pectorals and then an unbearable heat began radiating through his chest.

He howled brokenly to the sky above, his own voice piercing his eardrums as his skin practically liquified underneath Freddy’s hands. How the hell had he not passed out from the blinding pain yet? Did this world have no shred of mercy to give? Only when his shrill cries decreased in volume and transformed into soft sobs did those broiling palms remove themselves. Please... no more.

“Perhaps... here,” Freddy suggested while his heated hands caressed his clothed ass.

A ghost of a flinch travelled up his spine from the contact but nothing more. Every fibre in his body screamed at him to plead and beg to be released. Yet what came out of his raw esophagus was the exact opposite, and it was less than the sick fuck deserved.

“Why don’t you go burn to hell?” Quentin spat in a raspy voice.

A fighter to the end he was. No matter what.

A guttural snarl was his only response before those vile hands were tinkering with his belt buckle. Quentin pursed his lips and waited for the inevitable until he felt his knees collide harshly with the muddy ground. He attempted to brace himself when he pitched forward, but his limbs gave out the second they kissed the muck.

Quentin lay defeated and exhausted in the mud, his body twitching from the agony coursing through his system. Yet the thick liquid offered some comfort, the chilly temperature of it easing the sting of his chest burns somewhat. Despite this minor relief, the burns went beyond his pain threshold which made movement almost impossible. Even so, he was not about to willingly submit to further agony.

Gathering his non-existent strength, he crawled all but a few inches before being grabbed and maneuvered onto someone’s back. When the pain lessened to a tolerable level, he registered not a battered fedora but black, slightly spiky hair in his peripheral vision. Was he awake now or was this another trick? His brain was in no position to comprehend any information other than the immense pain emanating from his wounds. At this point, he would happily ignore everything else in favour of dying. Anything to end the agony he was subjected to.

One moment he was staring at tree branches, the moist bark possessing an eye-catching rich hazelnut colour, and then he was suddenly moving through the familiar black fog beyond the exit gate.

Hair tickled his ear while scratchy fabric dug into the crevice under his chin as the forest sped by him. It reminded him of sitting on the school bus and watching the scenery pass by through the window, all the textures and colours blurring together as one. Now, however, everything was slowly fading to black.

What was going on anyways? Was he... yes, he was being given a piggyback by Jake? Yes he indeed was. He would have laughed at the awkwardness of this moment if he was not in so much pain. If he was not so tired.

Relieved at their survival and that they were no longer in eminent danger, Quentin allowed his sagging eyelids to slip closed for just a minute. Just for a small, brief minute.


	20. Let It Be Said, Let It Be Known

To say David was livid with their resident insomniac would be a gross understatement. Quentin’s constant refusal to accept their help, to intentionally toy with their emotions, and needlessly worry them by ‘hanging around in the woods’ was unacceptable. Everything that brat did was a cry for attention: his poor attitude; his self-sacrificing nature; his random panic attacks; his supposedly distressing absences from the campfire; and his erratic nightmares.

Acknowledging these details for what they were only reassured David of his initial summation of the boy. Quentin was a stubborn, selfless brat. A charming people-pleaser who essentially existed for the benefit of others but then greedily reaped the resulting attention of his supposedly motiveless heroic feats. The mere thought alone was beyond aggravating. It was as if the teen wanted them to constantly fuss over him though whether Quentin consciously realised this or not was of little concern to David.

Laurie and Quentin both share similar troubles, or so he believed, yet the babysitter carried herself in a mature and respectable manner. Why was Quentin unable to do the same? What made his problems so damn important?

All he knew for absolute certainty was that he was not going to indulge Quentin and his childish behaviour any longer. If the kid wished to handle his own problems, then so be it. No skin off of his back, and it saved him a fair bit of unnecessary stress too.

And to think he once saw something worthwhile in Quentin—a person worth pursuing, a person worth something more. The boy’s repetitive actions spoke for themselves in that regard: Quentin was better off alone and potentially forgotten. A person stuttering around sneakily seeking baseless pity or whatever else was no friend of his.

Regardless, the insomniac still had merit as a decent teammate during trials. He was not petty or sadistic enough to leave Quentin behind for the killer to do away with. No one, not even the most eligible of arseholes, deserved such a fate.

David arrived at his desired destination and immediately strode towards the edge of the pond, his agitation miraculously not preventing him from fully enjoying the scenery. The faintest breeze blew through the trees and delivered the alluring, woodsy scent of the forest directly to his nostrils. Standing before the pond, he basked in the aesthetically pleasing sight of the water as its tiny ripples twinkled vibrantly in the aero blue lighting. He hoped this view, this rare and magnificent beauty, would never cease to amaze him.

Ignoring the continuous gnawing ache in his chest, David proceeded to dunk his bloodied hands into the pond in front of him, the water washing away the incriminating evidence of his earlier brawl.

If he ventured back to the fire in his current state, the others were sure to ask questions and there was no way he was going to willingly accept another banishment. Especially not for that whiney little bastard. Besides, David had not roughed the other male up too badly this time. If anything, he would argue that he had gone easy on the boy—used kid gloves while still effectively venting his pent-up frustrations. Sadly his fellow survivors were likely to scoff or protest against the reasoning behind his logic.

Fighting, oddly enough, granted him peace of mind. A simple punch up and a stressful situation would gradually lessen into something bearable. Why was it such an issue to partake in a little roughhousing from time to time? Oh right; he was surrounded by total wusses and bleeding hearts.

After thoroughly scrubbing his hands, he rubbed them in the loose, dry dirt to dilute the scent of iron still clinging to his flesh. It was probably an unnecessary precaution and he honestly knew not why he was trying so hard. At least the added effort provided a decent, calming distraction.

Next problem area to attend to was his face. He suspected he had a few bruises, maybe even a shiner if the throbbing from his eye was of any indication. Without a doubt, he knew the scratch marks were the biggest problem. Even though Quentin’s nails were blunt, they were actually tiny weapons in disguise and those dull crescents had dug in far deeper than anticipated. His partially distorted reflection in the pond confirmed numerous angry red lines mingling with the faint blotches highlighting his cheeks, eyes, and jaw.

What kind of person resorted to scratching? Certainly not a man, or any real man anyways. Maybe a cowardly pussycat backed into a corner though, his mind cheekily supplied. A mental image formed in response to his thought: a chestnut-coloured cat with tired, cesious eyes wearing a small, grey beanie on top of its fluffy head. The cat raised a lazy paw to bat uselessly in the air. David snickered in satisfaction at the imagery and just how fitting it all was for Quentin.

Shaking his head, he refocused on his reflection in the rippling water. Those claw markings were still pretty visible, the bright red scratches effortlessly standing apart from his skin tone. Christ the one over his left eyelid hurt like a sonofabitch.

While the thin marks were noticeable now, he knew the Entity would make quick work of fixing them. All he had to do was linger out here for a few minutes or so. He grumbled at the prospect but made himself comfortable, sitting back on his ass while his fingers ruffled his short, dark taupe hair.

A disturbing thought just occurred to him. What if Quentin came back to the fire in his bruised, bloodied state and told the others what happened? Odds were the teen would stay away from the everyone else, just as he desired. However, if David should indeed be tattled on, he would gladly come clean. Always having to apologize for nearly every action he took, or for every word he spoke, was driving him stark raving mad. He was entitled to possess his own opinions and was equally entitled to express them at his leisure. The moronic referee he had assaulted certainly felt the full force of his opinion. Furthermore, if the others decided to banish him a second time, then they would damn well have to make him leave.

Get a grip, his mind chided in its usual irritating tone when his palms begin to itch in anticipation. There was no point, or fun for that matter, in getting riled up for nothing. David begrudgingly accepted the logic the voice had to offer though it never hurt to be prepared for a possible conflict.

Had enough time passed now? Did it really matter? Personally he could not be arsed anymore. He was uncharacteristically freezing out here despite getting his blood pumping a while ago. What his body craved now was the ever-present, alluring fire to purge the horrible chill settling into his bones.

David set out to seek his desired heat source but paused before entering the sea of trees. His clothes. One glance at his favourite jacket had him growling in annoyance, the vivid red stains practically jumping out at him like some halfwit walking into a pub by mistake. Their visibility was peculiar given the dark colour of his jacket, but if he was able to see them in the meagre light here then the others would undoubtably notice back at the fire.

While his jacket was sullied, his undershirt was surprisingly free of stains. Hence he simply ditched his jacket in a bulbous, leafy bush with a dejected sigh and grumpily followed the appropriate guiding arrows. The campfire was not terribly far off now so surrendering his precious jacket was not a complete loss though his body still objected at the sudden loss of heat.

David hummed curiously at the sound of raised voices emanating from the bright light in the distance. Did Feng, or maybe Meg, lose another game to Ace? Both women typically got pretty pissy when they lost though he supposed he was no better. A frown quickly stretched at his lips. Did Quentin manage to crawl back to tattle on him? God damn him if the arse did but there was only one way to find out.

Shimmying through the shrubby, David emerged into the cleared area to observe a rather exuberant Feng Min regaling her latest trial.

“—called a win,” David heard the gamer conclude to Bill.

“Waiting ‘til the enemy’s literally breathing down your neck’s not a ‘win’ in my books,” Bill stated with an almost bored tone.

It was evident that the veteran was used to their ridiculous antics by now otherwise the elder would have lost his sanity putting up with us ‘crazy teenagers’, as he so graciously put it. He was hardly a teenager anymore, nor was Ace for that matter. But, given Bill’s age, he supposed they were all teenagers in his eyes.

“It’s a _win_ ,” Feng exaggerated, “because I beat my old record.”

“You still died,” Ace chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“Ugh,” the gamer groaned while her body sagged downward in what appeared to be pseudo dejection. She lazily strolled over to the gambler and proceeded to sink down beside him on the log the other was currently residing on. “Don’t remind me. I was _so close_ to ducking behind that crate but her stupid hatchet g—David? Hey!” Feng abruptly paused to shout a greeting at him.

“Hey,” he replied as he parked himself next to Laurie on the ground. “Bad trial I’m guessin’?”

The gamer shrugged before she uttered, “Meh, sorta. I broke my record so I’m happy with it. Hope Jake and Quentin are doing okay though. I mighta... made The Huntress a little bloodthirsty.”

So Quentin was called to a trial? David felt a sliver of worry worm its way into his gut but he immediately snuffed out the feeling. The brat was more than capable of handling himself.

Bill quirked an eyebrow at the gamer in disbelief and said, “A little huh?”

“Okay, a lot!” Feng amended hastily. “But we almost got all the gens done so they’ll probably survive.”

Something began tapping at his leg and, upon turning, David discovered the source to be Laurie’s finger rapping against his kneecap. “You seem a bit... off. Everything okay?” the babysitter spoke in a hushed tone.

“Ya,” he responded curtly and equally quiet. Since there were no funny or scrutinizing looks from Laurie, he assumed the damage to his face had healed up. Her remark though had him on alert. He needed to school his face a little better if he wanted to avoid anymore questions like that one.

“How’s Quentin doing? Did you talk to him?” David heard Claudette inquire from her resting place on Dwight’s chest, the botanist essentially using the leader as a body pillow.

Was that question directed at him? No, thankfully it was not.

Feng frowned a bit, her eyes shifting downward to stare at her shoes. “I didn’t actually get a chance to talk to him. He, well… I think he was kinda avoiding us. I-I don’t really know. He just seemed off or out of it maybe?” she finished while looking to Bill—likely for his input.

“More like exhausted,” the elder added. “Saw him nodding offa couple of times. Took some hits for him but we didn’t exactly have time for chit-chat.”

“Y-You think he’s not sleeping?” Dwight quietly asked in a slightly monotone voice.

Their leader was healing, slowly but surely, yet there were still some things that stood out like subtle bullseye targets. Dwight’s personality, for example, was more reserved and nervous now, and the guy’s voice was a little less lively and passionate than before. David pursed his lips into a tight line. Dwight deserved their help, their attention, yet the only person thought of or spoken of was Quentin. How infuriating.

“When does he ever?” Feng exclaimed. “And even when he does, those nightmares of his screw him over.”

“Did you manage to find him out there,” Ace questioned abruptly, and it took David a second to realise that the gambler was addressing him. “Before the trial?”

“Nah,” he lied with a shake of his head for emphasis, “I didn’t.”

If he had said yes, a whole slew of rubbish would be fired his way and whatever those things happened to be might not receive pleasant answers.

Laurie was giving him a curious, slightly slanted look. He knew that look well enough; she had caught his lie and quickly too. Damn woman and her perspective nature.

“That’s too bad,” the babysitter offered discretely. “I’d be nice to know how he’s doing.”

Keep it together mate, his mind scolded when his fists unconsciously clenched in his lap.

Several eyes veered towards his balled hands with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion, and he knew right then and there he was busted.

“I smell bullshit,” Feng commented in the form of a sing-a-long while her arms proceeded to cross over her chest.

“David?” He cranked his neck towards the botanist to take in her pleading stare, those coffee-coloured orbs practically boring into his skull as if trying to delve inside his mind and steal away his secrets.

With an annoyed huff, he stiffly declared, “I saw ‘im.”

Ace being the first to initiate the interrogation said, “Then why the secrecy?”

He gave the man a half shrug and replied, “Nothin’ important ta share ‘bout it.”

“As in nothing happened,” Feng tried to determine, “or something did happen and you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Fucking perceptive cunt. No, scratch that, fuck the lot of these guys. Was there nothing he was capable of getting away with in this hellhole?

“What happened David?” Laurie subtly asked though the question sounded more like a demand in his ears.

“Nothin’ ‘appened.”

“D-Did he, maybe _not_ wanna t-talk to you?” Dwight nervously tried.

David gritted his teeth and voiced a sharp, “No.”

Bill released a smoky cough, the elder dislodging his cigarette from his mouth momentarily to calmly utter, “Did the kid reject you?”

Reject him? “Wha’?”

“Oh my god that’s right!” Feng squealed, her folded arms excitedly shooting out to pump two closed fists in front of her—as if she had just curled two weights into her chest. “You were gonna confess!”

“Conf—Who told ya ‘at?” David demanded with a mortified glare.

“Meg duh,” the gamer responded as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “She umm, _heard_ from Nea that’re crushing on him.”

Ace went through a dramatic display of removing his cap and resting it—along with the hand holding it—over his heart. “Our rowdy scrapper’s finally trying his luck at romance? I thought I’d never see the day.”

Claudette gave him an approving smile and voiced, “I’m so happy for you David.”

“B-But,” the leader stuttered out, his voice causing the botanist to peer upward, “did it, y’know, w-work out? W-What’d he say?”

“Their history hasn’t had the cleanest record,” Bill piped up, “but people change. Even in the midst of battle.”

“‘Bout time you stopped d—”

“So what did h—”

“I hope he said y—”

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” David violently shouted at the top of his lungs while jumping to his feet. “‘ERE’S NOTHIN’ GOIN’ ON BETWEEN ME AND ‘AT LITTLE BRAT!”

A pregnant silence descended over the area with nothing save for the intermittent crackling of burning timber filling the void. David locked piercing eyes with each and every person there, his imposing gaze just begging them to say something more. If looks were capable of killing, the one he was sporting now certainly fit the bill.

Claudette visibly gulped, obviously a little fearful of him, and tentatively asked, “I... I’m sorry David.”

“No need to blow a fuse,” Feng grumbled out in rapid succession. “Rejection sucks and all, but y—”

“I wasn’t rejected! I neva said anythin’ ta ‘im ‘bout ‘at!” he clarified, his accent becoming heavier with each word that was uttered.

“Why not?” Ace asked in confusion and he was not the only one looking perplexed.

“‘Cause ya don’t go confessin’ ta someone ya don’t love! He doesn’t deserve love! He’s nothin’ but a skittish little lamb cryin’ for attention, makin’ me actually feel _bad_ for ‘im!” he spewed, flecks of drool flying from his raving trap. Taking a moment to exhale deeply, David gave the other a dismissive wave and sternly concluded, “Little bugger can fend for ‘imself from now on. I won’t be arsed anymore ‘bout it.”

Another soundless pause flooded the vicinity and David felt his stance on the matter well demonstrated. Hell, none of the others were even glancing his way. In fact, they all appeared oddly sad and dejected with his declaration.

Bill was the one to break the silence as he subtly seethed, “Now that’s just unfair son.”

“But it’s for the best,” Ace replied to the veteran, “if that’s where he’s placing all of his chips.”

Were they mocking him? “Wha’re you two on ‘bout?”

“They’re commenting on your observations being off point,” Laurie attempted to elaborate for him though he remained boggled.

“Meanin’ wha’ exactly?”

“Meaning Quentin deserves someone _better_ than you,” Feng quietly and near spitefully professed, “if you believe the things you just said about him.”

“W-Wha’?!” he sputtered out in shock, his eyes widening in disbelief. Their reactions were nothing like he was expecting. Granted he did anticipate some backlash, but not like this. They were actually taking Quentin’s side and, in turn, defending the brat despite his whiney behaviour. “Why? ‘Cause I don’t wanna coddle ‘im like the rest of ya? Yer just enablin’ ‘im ta behave like the spoiled brat he is.”

“We’re not coddling him David,” Laurie argued. “I thought we’ve been over this.”

“Been over wha’?”

Her eyebrows scrunched up slightly as she said, “He’s dealing with more than the rest of us, more than me with my brother.”

This again? At this point, he was skeptical of anything Quentin was supposedly going through. “Yer just assumin’ ‘at and he refuses ta talk ‘bout it.”

“Do you honestly expect him to open up to you, to _any_ of us,” the gamer spat, “just like that?”

“After everythin’ we’ve been through together now? Ya, I bloody do.”

The disapproving expressions directed at him apparently were in disagreement, but he dismissed their judgement. He never had a need for it before anyways.

“It was hard enough for Laurie to open up to us,” Ace expressed in all seriousness and then addressed the babysitter specifically. “Which I am grateful for. I never would have imagined... the night you endured. I—”

“Thank you, Ace. I appreciate it,” Laurie uttered with gratitude but likely also to stop the man before the conversation became too unbearable for her.

The gambler bowed his head a touch in the babysitter’s direction and responded with a heartfelt, “Always.”

“Everyone’s got something,” Bill continued on for the others, “and you carry it with ya for the rest of yer life.”

“A-And this is a… well, a something Quentin doesn’t want us knowing,” Dwight shakily added.

“I agree,” a new voice suddenly interrupted. All heads turned to the noise to discover Jake carrying a seemingly unconscious Quentin on his back. “But I think the secrecy’s killing him.”

Claudette let out an unsettled gasp and rushed over to the boys. Dwight and Ace joined the botanist to aid Jake in maneuvering Quentin to rest near an unoccupied log.

“Are you hurt?” Claudette addressed the saboteur. Despite the worry plainly evident in her tone, those empathetic eyes of hers shone with their usual confidence when a medical emergency presented itself.

“I’ll live,” Jake assured and then nodded his head towards the unconscious teen. “Look after him.”

“What happened?” Feng asked the saboteur as he sat down beside Quentin.

Jake shot the gamer an exhausted stare before he uttered, “The Huntress let us go.”

“Wha’?”

“What the hell’re you ta—”

“Are you kid—”

“Woah!” Feng voiced the noise rather loudly to drown out everyone else’s questions. “I think we all need a little more to go on besides that.”

With a half-hearted glare and a ghost of a pout peeking at the edges of his mouth, Jake responded, “I finished repairing another generator when Quentin was hooked. I rescued him but he wasn’t holding up so well and he h—”

“You didn’t ask him what’s wrong?” Claudette asked incredulously, her voice causing David’s eyes to momentarily shift to her and her newly acquired patient.

He took a moment to examine Quentin. The other’s torn clothes, the deep cuts etched on his face, and were those burns on his mud-covered chest? When Claudette eventually wiped the muck away, David saw the wounds there indeed were burns. Real nasty ones too, the gruesome sight causing him to unconsciously place a curled finger between his teeth. The gesture was meant to quell the storm now brewing in his stomach though it sadly offered little comfort. What the hell happened to the boy?

“Getting out took priority,” Jake said, the response drawing David back into the conversation. “I went ahead and repaired the last generator while he opened the gate.”

Feng plastered on an uneasy frown and then uttered, “I smell a ‘but’ coming on...”

“The killer was after me for quite some time,” the saboteur continued his explanation, “but eventually veered off when we heard screaming.”

“Quentin?”

“Yes,” Jake confirmed for Dwight. “I tracked the screams to the stern of the ship and found Quentin hanging off the side by fishing nets.”

“What the fuck?”

“Why wasn’t he at a gate?”

“How’d he get stuck up there anyways?”

Jake paused to give everyone, and their rapid-fire questions, a semi-annoyed grimace before resuming.

“I’m not exactly sure but The Huntress used her hatchets and cut Quentin down. Then she motioned for me to get him, and then to leave.”

David had to strain his ears to catch the last bit as Jake’s voice nearly dropped to a whisper. But what he was able to make out had him completely baffled. “She wha’? Why the ‘ell would ‘at bloody rabbit cunt ‘elp at all?”

“Sounds like a trick to me,” Laurie muttered at Jake’s side, her fingers entangling with the saboteur’s own.

“No way!” Feng scoffed in bewilderment. “Since when’re killers actually helpful to us?”

“And s-she didn’t attack you guys, after-afterward?” the leader voiced from his spot beside Claudette, the man offering the botanist whatever tools she required to properly attend to Quentin’s injuries.

“It was unorthodox,” Jake admitted quietly, “but she did no further harm to us. I grabbed Quentin and ran for the exit. I could hear her following us but she never once attacked.”

The elder stubbed out his cigarette and then asked, “And the kid?”

Jake offered Bill a small frown before again nodding towards the unconscious figure and mumbled, “You’ve already seen the damage.”

“Did The Huntress do it?” Ace questioned curiously. It was the only sound explanation David could come up with as well but then why would the killer suddenly become friendly?

“No,” Jake asserted, “I don’t think so.”

“Then wh—”

“Look at his face,” the saboteur softly blurted, the interruption effectively cutting off the gambler.

Within seconds, everyone was crowded around Quentin to gaze at the distinct slash marks covering the unconscious male’s face. David did not understand the fascination to be seen from a couple of slices. No, wait. Those cuts were not from The Huntress, were they? They did not seem right.

“Four parallel slash marks, clean edges,” Jake rattled off somberly from his position on the ground. “And there’s only one killer here with that kind of weapon.”

“The Nightmare,” Claudette whispered after a tense moment.

“That can’t be right. M-Maybe he was hit in the face,” Feng attempted to uncover the apparent mystery at large. “Y’know, with hatchets?”

“Hatchets normally leave clean wounds but they’re not this length and these slashes curl which a hatchet wouldn’t,” the saboteur stated, his neck cranking to the side to eye their friend. “And for them to form such a neat, parallel pattern would be near impossible.”

“So wha’ the bloody ‘ell ‘appened to ‘im?” David finally voiced aloud.

Jake merely turned to stare dispiritedly into the powerful, dancing flames of the campfire and then the man muttered, “I haven’t the slightest clue.”

An abrupt shout startled David and the others, his vision shifting to the now thrashing unconscious male.

“Quentin?” Claudette implored while attempting to restrain the boy with both arms now covered in filth.

Unbelievable. This was exactly what David was referring to. The brat simply refused to let up even when he was severely wounded. “See wha’ I mean?” he commented with a wave of his hand. “Cryin’ and screamin’ for attention again.”

“He’s having a nightmare David,” Ace pointedly stated, mouth forming a slightly tight line.

“He’s fakin’,” he argued back resolutely. “Knew we were talkin’ ‘bout ‘im so he waited a wee bit before startin’ up ‘is little act.”

“You’re such an idiot!” Feng remarked in rising anger. “Why would he ev—”

“What the fuck’s going on?!” Meg abruptly screeched from the tree line and proceeded into the area with Nea in toe. Judging from their dishevelled hair and rumpled clothes, he had to assume their noise and Quentin’s wailing interrupted their alone time. “Is he okay?”

Then the screaming and thrashing stopped like a violent gust of wind suddenly dying off.

“See? Wha’d I tell ya,” David asserted with extended arms gesturing to Quentin. “Now he’s gonna fake bein’ asleep ‘til we actually let ‘im fall asleep.”

“Poppycock,” Bill mumbled under his breath though everyone seemed to catch it.

“What’re you talking about David?” Nea inquired and then proceeded to bend down to gawk wide-eyed at the sight of their injured friend.

“Ignore h—” Feng paused to sniff the air, her face twisting in disgust. “What’s that horrible smell?”

The gambler mimicked the Asian woman’s previous action and uttered, “Smells like burning branches and sticks.”

“No, I smell something else burning. And, no, it’s not coming from the fire!” the gamer defended while shooting a firm glare at Ace when the man made to point to the campfire behind them.

“I think I can smell it too,” Laurie admitted.

“Oh god,” David heard Claudette mutter hastily, his eyes following the botanist’s line of sight and widening in alarm. Quentin’s nose had begun to bleed, crimson cascading out of each nostril like two streams running down a cliff.

“The fuck?” Meg commented while grabbing a semi-clean rag from her pocket. Tilting Quentin’s head back, the runner placed the rag firmly underneath the boy’s nose in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing freely.

David took a second to unsuccessfully wrap his mind around the situation and then shakily voiced, “W-Where’s all ‘at blood comin’ from?”

Laurie joined in to aid the two women but then the boy limbs snapped outward, arms and legs knocking those closest away while they swiftly arranged themselves in a position reminiscent of a starfish. A moment passed and nothing happened: no screams, no whimpers, no shouts, and no tears. A nervous lump formed in David’s throat to which he barely gulped down. It was all fake, his mind attempted to reassure. Though that voice was practically broken now in comparison to its earlier confidence.

The tiniest of whimpers escaped Quentin’s mouth and then the boy quietly croaked, “Coward.”

David hardly caught the word and he guessed a few of the others did not. Who was the coward?

“Oh fuck,” Meg gasped in terror and pointed a blood-soaked finger at Quentin’s arm, “look!”

A slice had appeared on the teen’s left forearm seemingly out of nowhere, fresh crimson leaking out to pool into the dirt below. As suddenly as the first, slash after slash began swiftly materializing all over the Quentin’s stretched body—some appearing on skin while others bled through the shredded fabric of his clothes. Unlike before, however, there were no cries of agony or tears of any sort. In fact, Quentin looked as though he was almost smiling in his sleep.

“Guys,” Claudette impatiently bellowed, “come on!”

Everyone, himself included, moved in to help Quentin in a panicked bustle. Both frantic and steady hands were everywhere trying to staunch the insane amount of bleeding present.

But nothing was working. The boy continued to bleed out with a slack smile grazing his lips.

“There’s too much blood,” Nea whimpered out, tearing streaking down her prominent cheek bones. “W-We… we can’t s—”

“Shut it!” David harshly screeched, not wanting to hear a word of it.

Then there was an abrupt, deafening yell which was secondly accompanied by a geyser of blood erupting from Quentin’s upper chest. David’s breath froze in his esophagus while several droplets of thick liquid, and what he assumed to be tiny flecks of flesh, sluggishly ran down his stained cheeks. Shaking his head to stave off his utter shock and horror, David hastily ripped off his undershirt and pressed it against the massive hole where the other’s heart resided. Bill followed suit by removing his light olive-coloured jacket and handing it to him. Speedily accepting the additional fabric, David applied ample pressure to the wound. His hands shook violently and his heart pounded loudly in his eardrums while he worked to defy the inevitable.

There _was_ too much blood. Quentin was dying, expiring right before his eyes and he was powerless to stop it.

A cold, pale hand gently rested on his forearm. The touch was so feather-light he barely missed it, but David did notice and his eyes shifted such that hazel-green met cesious head on.

He forced himself to maintain the heart-clenching contact, even as those gorgeous blue orbs went hazy and their stunning gleam gradually receded. Then Quentin stilled, his sliced body falling limp and his face sagging as he gazed dully into the distance.

“No,” he muttered in disbelief. His hands rose up to delicately cup the other’s cool, colour-drained cheeks. “No, no, no...”

“Q-Quen?” Laurie muttered beside him though he paid little mind to her or the others around him.

Even as he heard his friends give into their despair, David remained fixated on Quentin, his stare competing with the lifeless one below him. It reminded him greatly of that fateful night back in Manchester, the horrific scene he had stumbled upon and the dead, glassy eyes of Alexander staring blankly into nothingness. Their eyes matched perfectly now.

“I-Is... Is he, d-dead?” Meg tearfully asked.

It was as obvious as the black sky above them how dead the boy was. David growled in annoyance and spat, “‘Course he blood—”

“ _Really_ dead,” she amended with a raised tone of voice.

No response, and David was honestly afraid to hear one or utter one. What if Quentin was truly dead and gone for good? They all had seen and experienced several excruciating and horrendous deaths, but it was always restricted to trials.

And this was _not_ a trial.

From the shadows lying beyond the treeline, the fog filtered into the vicinity and enveloped Quentin. Mere seconds went by, and then the concealing mist retreated and the boy was nowhere to be found. All that remained was a few bits of tattered cloth from his clothes and a giant pool of blood, still warm and dampening the loose sediment it touched.

David released a shaky breath and simply eyed the spot which used to occupy one Quentin Smith. He tuned out all noises from his environment as his mind reeled from everything he had just witnessed. A frigid, hollow sensation spread through his core and seeped into every fibre of his being. It felt akin to jumping out of an airplane at high altitude, the suffocating pressure draining the body of warmth and feeling at the same time. Even his internal voice had been rendered silent and nothing save for distance ringing echoed throughout his stunned mind.

He vaguely noted a pressure bearing down on his shoulder and a body crouching in front of him. The black and vibrant blue short shorts told him it was Feng and apparently the gamer was trying to nab his attention.

“I-I...” he paused to reign in his overwhelming emotions. Despite his best efforts however, tears sprang to his eyes and throaty breaths transformed into shaky, barely stifled sobs. “I… I was wr-wrong.”

There had definitely been something going on with Quentin. His violent death mere moments ago clearly demonstrated that something else besides mere behavioural issues were afoot. What was the point in thinking about it any longer?

Quentin had died, and possibly permanently this time. How were they to know for sure? But Quentin had to come back; he just had too! He could not be _dead_ dead!

Feng offered no comment in return except for hiccupping cries. They were heart-wrenching, pitiful sounds to which he simply could not dismiss. He extended a subtle arm outward and the gamer instantly dove in, her tiny form squishing into his partially stained, rippled torso. David squeezed her tight, her sleek hair tickling his chin as he finally succumbed to his inner pain. How could this have happened? If this was the universe, or the Entity perhaps, answering some unspoken request of his then he wished to take it back. He may have been at odds with Quentin, more so than ever necessary, but he never wanted this.

Quentin _had_ to be alive yet the voice within his brain returned anew to whisper uncertainties and doubt, every word driving more tears from his stinging orbs.

Feng held on tighter in response to his cries, her own tears dampening his skin as she faintly sobbed out, “Idiot. F-Fucking… idiot.”

The vibrations from her voice caused goosebumps to rise to the surface of his skin but, like her words, he was ill bothered by it. His only troubling thoughts were of Quentin: how badly he had treated the poor boy; how he had failed to save him; how foolish his beliefs towards the other male had been; and how he never had the opportunity to be more to the insomniac. A better friend, a better person. And maybe even something more.

David let loose a prolonged, broken roar to the blank sky above, his anguish echoing thunderously throughout the area.

This was infinitely worse than discovering a bloody and deceased Alexander lying helplessly in the street. Fuck he needed to stop comparing the two teenagers. The instances were different. This place was completely different from the world they knew and cherished. And the boys themselves were different people!

But Alexander was dead, and he would always feel responsible for not doing more for the boy. And now Quentin was dead too.

Maybe their situations were not so different after all.


	21. This Is My Story

Ordinarily Quentin revived in some random area in the forest they called home—though it hardly resembled anything close to home. Thus, he was slightly miffed to awaken in a trial, his eyes sluggishly glaring at the decrepit workshop towering before him. The killer though, to his eternal relief, was not Freddy. And hopefully it was not The Doctor either. He has had his fill of nightmares for a while.

He sauntered soundlessly into the shop and immediately began repairing the lone generator there. His teammates, whomever they were for this trial, were surely going to interrogate him over his gory death.

Freddy had not appreciated him awakening prematurely during his trial at the swamp and decided to express his displeasure thoroughly. Their ‘game’ was akin to the ones they played when he had first arrived in the Entity’s world where the dream demon desired nothing greater than his agonizing demise. Unlike countless times before however, Quentin harboured no fear towards the man. Instead he poured his energy into his determination to make things as unenjoyable for the dream demon as humanly possible. Freddy did not take kindly to this, nor his smug comments, and the man exacted his unbridled rage accordingly. Quentin saw it coming, did everything within his power to ensure it happened too so that he was spared a fate worse than death.

Dying was no longer a threat here—it being second nature just as much as breathing was—so why bother obsessing over it? Although, the build up still mattered—the pain and suffering leading up to the potential end—or having to repeat said build up a million times over. This indeed was something Freddy was more than capable of accomplishing, and this simple fact was what he feared the most.

He briefly imagined being held hostage in the dream world, unable to wake up and unable to die, by a monster who took pleasure in making his dreams realities. Quentin shuddered at the thought, fumbled with his necklace and prayed to God something like that never occurred.

The chiming of a bell startled him from his inner depression, his neck whipping around to observe The Wraith raising his weapon and smacking him across the back. Yelping in pain, Quentin speedily ducked away and vaulted through a window to safety. At least he had finished repairing the generator. Barely.

Gaining some necessary distance, he sprinted to a far-off corner and crouched behind a cluster of trees. He momentarily kept a sharp eye out for anything shimmering or a bark-like figure moving about. Upon seeing nothing suspicious, he slunk off to find another generator to repair. The wound on his back smarted yet, thankfully, it did not feel too deep. Finding a medical kit was the ideal scenario but he was not about to waste precious time doing so. If he stumbled upon a chest, then he would search it. Otherwise, nothing appealed to him more than getting the fuck out of this trial. Though he had slept, if experiencing terrifying nightmares counted as actual rest, his ever-present fatigue continued to weigh him down. He did not need his crutch coming back to bite him in the ass like it did last trial.

Rounding behind a moss-covered car, Quentin promptly bumped into a solid object. Shit! The Wraith found him already? He made to flee once again until a set of arms latched onto his biceps and dragged him into a crushing embrace.

“Yer ‘ere,” a deep voice whispered in relief. “Y-Yer alive.”

“David?” he squeaked in surprise.

“Christ Quen, I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry! For everythin’.”

“It-It’s okay,” Quentin reassured if only to be free of the other male’s restricting hold on him. And what was the deal with the scrapper’s abnormal behaviour? Was David no longer anger with him? “You were just ang—”

“I was wrong!” he firmly argued. “I was—Fuck, we thought you were dead.”

Dead? What did h—As in dead for real? He never even took that option into consideration since he already knew he resurrected outside of trials. But the others apparently did not know this, and he internally kicked himself for not realizing it sooner. First and foremost, his only pressing matter was relieving the massive, bruising pressure currently afflicting his rib cage.

“D-David,” he choked out breathlessly, “I can’t breathe.”

It took a moment for David to comply, the man muttering a sheepish apology before loosening his grip on the teenager. Quentin had approximately two seconds to enjoy his freedom, and the rush of oxygen flooding into his lungs, before being nearly tackled into the grass. What the hell was going on?!

Glancing downward, he discovered another body clinging to him. Another few seconds passed until he deduced the mystery person to be Laurie, the babysitter clinging to his torso like a boa constrictor as fresh tears soaked into his graphic T-shirt.

She was hugging him… and crying? Quentin bothered not to try and fight the young woman and simply surrendered to her affection. His poor ribs disliked his decision and continued to protest relentlessly but he opted to ignore the minor discomfort. After all, he was unable to recall ever receiving a hug—a genuine one—from Laurie so he was not about to ruin this experience by pushing her away.

“What’s going on with you,” the babysitter whispered in his ear when her tears ceased.

“Please tell us wha’s ‘appenin’,” the scrapper voiced a similar request. “Wha’ ‘appened at the fire… I-I don’t understand.”

Oh boy, this was it. Quentin had a decision to make here. While lying may have worked in his favour in the past, he doubted anything he conjured up now to Laurie or David would be perceived with complete trust. In all fairness, he was sick of hiding the truth. Lies required a sizeable amount of energy to produce and maintaining them took even more. But coming clean, revealing his disgusting and horrible secret which he held so sacred, was not something he wished to do either. But what was he to say? You know what you have to say, his mind uttered in sympathy and with uncharacteristic wisdom. Yeah, he guessed he did.

Taking a liberating breath, in and out, he knew what needed to happen. He had to tell the truth.

“After the trial,” Quentin informed the both of them. “I’ll tell you guys everything after the trial.”

Laurie released him from her grip, flashed him a small smile and then said, “I’m holding you to that.”

“Same,” David added while clapping him on the shoulder.

“For now,” the babysitter uttered, stepping back and producing a roll of gauze, “let’s get you fixed up.”

\--------------------

Quentin and Laurie trekked back to the campfire in relative silence. He was still quite upset at David’s passing but the scrapper had insisted on staying behind to ensure they survived. Instead of objecting, as he usually did, Quentin simply respected the man’s wishes and fled into the fog. He hoped his actions proved to the scrapper that he was capable of keeping his promise.

Now his only worry was figuring out what to say to his friends. How exactly was he supposed to go about doing this? Or what specifically should even be said at all? Maybe it was unnecessary to reveal everything. Only what they needed to know or what was likely to sate their worry. Though the entire explanation might be necessary for their understanding.

Quentin vocalized the faintest of growls while scratching his scalp underneath his beanie in frustration. He was not ready for this, but it had to happen. Now more than ever. If nothing was said, if nothing changed, then what hope was there for him?

This colossal mess reminded him of a particular instance from elementary school. By staying silent and doing nothing, his childhood bullies won. They had mercilessly tormented him each and every day he attended school: calling him names; stealing his lunch; knocking his books out of his hands; tripping him in the hallway; throwing processed meat slices at him; and the list just went on. He had initially told his father of his predicament only to be severely scolded for not standing up for himself—for not being a proper man and fighting back. Though it was hardly a fair fight when it was three against one.

Quentin hummed curiously as an interesting thought crossed his mind. Perhaps the reason he did not wish to tell anyone of his suffering was, not only to spare them his burden, but because he associated honesty with pain. Despite telling his father of his woes, the man offered only cruel advice in return and nothing more. In doing so, Quentin was taught at a young age that the truth was not guaranteed to solve his problems. Quite frankly, it was easier to ignore the issue altogether, tough it out until his bullies grew bored of him. Or help others in need as a means of distracting himself from his own pain.

Sadly, the only person he remembered to be of any help to him in his childhood was Freddy.

Though, in this case, Freddy was essentially his bully and, even though it was a one-on-one fight, he had no known means of winning. Despite the odds not being in his favour, he tried his damnedest to emerge victorious. Or, at the very least, he tried to remain sane throughout the ordeal. It was all he was capable of claiming as a victory at this point.

“QUENTIN!” an ear-piercing holler rang out and then several bodies closed in to squish him into the middle of a cluster hug. He first had to survive the reunion with his friends before confronting his demon yet again.

“Jesus son, you scared the dickens outta every—”

“You’re alive! You’re act—”

“Are you o—”

“We thought you ha—”

“Don’t ever fucking scare u—”

It was impossible to keep up with every comment thrown his way so he merely submitted to their embraces and answered, “I’m sorry I worried you guys.”

Quentin did not expect such a warm and tender reception upon arriving at the fire. He guessed his death worried them more than he realized.

In the centre of the exuberant bustle, he had enough awareness to register: two pecks on each cheek and a hug from Ace; a bone-crushing hug from Meg followed by a smack on the arm; a gentle hug from Claudette accompanied by a peck on the forehead; a backwards hug from Nea, the woman switching his beanie with hers and then pressing a kiss to his cheek—the tag artist looked rather nice wearing his beanie; a comforting hug from Dwight though the leader trembled like a leaf caught in a storm the entire time; another forehead kiss and hug combo from Feng and she flicked his nose too—likely as a half-hearted threat not to scare her again; Jake gave a sort of half hug which he gratefully leaned into; and Bill offered a simple shoulder clap and a firm nod.

“Let the guy bloody breath,” David chided from behind the relieved and teary-eyed crowd.

A few last-minute kisses and hugs were administered before his friends finally allowed him sufficient breathing room.

“Y-You died,” Dwight began to say shakily, “out-outside of a trial. And we-we thought… we thought you died for re—”

“I’m here Dwight,” he reassured the leader with another hug. “I died but I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.” Quentin pulled back to plaster on a soft smile for the man and uttered, “I promise.”

“So… h-how did you die exactly?” Meg voiced uneasily.

“What happened to you?” Jake added mere seconds afterwards, a sliver of concern peeking through the cracks of his intricate mask of emotions.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a long, depressing sigh. How was he supposed to start this? “It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’re all ears son,” Bill gruffly muttered in encouragement.

“I-I think you guys should sit down,” he hesitantly requested after a tense moment. “What I have to say… what I’m about to tell you isn’t gonna be easy. I mean it-it’s hard to—”

“Th-thank you,” Quentin perked his head up at the sound of Claudette’s voice to witness the others already complying with his wish—either by resting on the ground or cramming onto one log. That was quick. Had they been waiting for this to happen?

“Thank you?” he reiterated in confusion.

The botanist gave him an empathetic smile, coffee-coloured orbs gleaming in the light of the blazing fire, and clarified by saying, “For this.”

Claudette did not elaborate on what ‘this’ meant but Quentin understood what she was referring to well enough. He was finally accepting their help by sharing with them his most guarded secret.

“Whenever you’re ready cutie,” Nea added with a little, reassuring grin while leaning against Meg.

Right, okay; it was time for him to get this going. “So umm,” he started off inelegantly once everyone appeared relaxed in their respective seats, “y-you all know I came here with Freddy, Th-The Nightmare?”

A choir of nods and affirmative gestures were presented to him.

“A-And you’re all familiar with Badham Preschool?”

“The creepy school?” Feng inquired.

Quentin nodded and then he was met with more nods from the others, some of which were accompanied by unusual expressions.

“R-Right so, umm...” Quentin paused to take a deep, staggering breath in order to collect his thoughts.

Stammering through this was not going to do him any good. He had to be strong, he had to be strong. The mantra repeatedly circled within his brain like a handful of flurries being whipped around in blizzard. It was not the most comforting of thought processes but it still miraculously quelled his mounting anxiety.

Exhaling quietly, Quentin refocused his attention back on the expectant group and commenced what was likely to be a long and painful explanation.

“In the other world, well uh, the real world,” he clarified, “I used to go to that school when I was younger. Umm, when I was five or six years old.”

A series of raised eyebrows and wary expressions were given in response, and Quentin could not help but chuckle slightly. There was nothing even humorous about this, and there especially was nothing remotely humorous about the next few bits. Yet he found himself capable of doing the unlikely.

“And there was a man at the preschool. He was a groundskeeper, a gardener, who lived in the basement of the school. His name was Frederick Charles Krueger, but we all called him... Freddy,” he uttered quietly, the crackling of burning timber unintentionally emphasizing the dream demon’s name.

Quentin took another quick moment to compose himself, his mind re-immersing itself in the past, before stating, “Freddy wasn’t always like how he is now.”

David folded his arms across his chest and scoffed. “Ya mean an arse?”

“Try creeper,” Meg contended with a sneer.

Quentin hummed in affirmative, expertly schooling his expression to reveal nothing, and continued on.

“Back then, he was an amazing guy. We idolized him,” he spoke with fondness, his thoughts drifting back to the happier times at Badham Preschool. “He taught us things, like how to pronounce certain words or how to take care of plants. He played games with us at recess and cheered us up whenever we were upset.” A hand unconsciously rose up to clutch his medallion and cross pendant, his fingers fiddling with the metal trinkets while his free hand remained stiff at his side. “He made the school feel, well, like... home.”

“So... what happened?” Nea inquired, her fearful eyes aptly matching her tone.

In fact, they all looked rather distressed, fidgeting in their seats or frowning or simply staring awkwardly into his eyes. It was an unsettling sight, one which he had to break away from.

Gently screwing his orbs shut, Quentin vaguely stated, “Then things changed.”

“How?” Laurie cautiously asked as if his question was taboo.

His free hand unclenched to grip uselessly at his jeans, wrinkling the fabric. “Freddy changed,” he drearily declared, eyebrows scrunching together in response to his emotional pain. “He started acting differently, doing strange things th-that we didn’t understand.”

Gulping down an oversized hunk of bile suddenly lodged in his windpipe, he forced himself to keep going. This was it. “Freddy, h-he... he w-was... he molested us,” he mumbled almost noiselessly under his breath, moisture forming in his eyes without his permission.

“Huh?”

“He did wha’?”

“What’s you say?”

“Couldn’t catch that last b—”

“HE MOLESTED US!” Quentin savagely spat, both arms jutting outward in furious exaggeration. A trembling hand removed Nea’s beanie and crushed the soft material in his grip. The other hand reached up to thread into his delicate curls, his fingers tugging painfully at the roots. “He fucking  _molested_  us! He’d t-take us to his room or-or the secret cave where he-he’d do things to us.” Dropping the beanie at his sneaker-clad feet, he wrapped his arms around his torso as a sort of protective gesture while liquid spilled freely over his cheeks. “He even took pictures and-and-and kept them… as f-fucking trophies.”

A distraught Claudette rose from her spot and attempted to approach him but he waved her away with a shaky hand, took two steps backwards, and whined out, “No… don’t.”

Quentin did not have the strength to look any of his friends in the eye so he merely gazed at the ground and tried to restore his now tattered composure.

He heard the sound of shoes scuffling against the gritty dirt and then a pair of pants, jeans specifically, invaded his vision. Strong arms then coiled around his shoulders and drew him into a warm embrace, and there was only one person he knew that possessed such large, brawny arms.

“L-Lemme go David,” he squeaked pitifully into the man’s jacket.

The man gave an indistinct huff before he declared, “Ain’t gonna ‘appen.”

“Dav—”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go love,” David reiterated resolutely, the teen glancing upward to observe the intense agony present in the scrapper’s hazel-green, tear-filled orbs.

Maybe it was those words spoken oh so softly to him, or the firm yet gentle hug he was currently forced into, or simply the man’s pained and vulnerable expression. Whatever the specific trigger was, he broke down.

Uncontrollable sobs erupted from his throat which were muffled by the tall figure in front of him. Resting his forehead against David’s chest, Quentin grasped at the man’s clothes and bunched them up into tight fists as he wept. His shoulders heaved harshly while his chest constricted from his irregular breathing. He wanted to stop, tried so desperately to stifle his cries, but to no avail. Years and years of emotional repression had been unleashed, truly unleashed for the first time ever, and no amount of perseverance and resolve was going to turn it off now.

Suddenly he felt several other touches, arms and bodies coming together to join in to offer their aid. Quentin had not the energy to flinch nor protest against their actions. And this time he had no ridiculous reason to. He simply savoured the gracious gift his friends were giving him, taking what he craved for such a long time: comfort, warmth and, most importantly, help.

Quentin permitted his body to be eased to the ground. His legs were already giving out from the strain anyways and he did not wish to trouble David by holding him upright.

A single teary eye cracked open to observe everyone now sitting around him in a tight-knit circle. His lip quivered as he willed his anguish to die down into wet, mucus-sounding sniffles. The support from them was unbelievable, and he realized then and there his mistake for not confessing his hardships sooner.

Quentin had been so caught up in hiding his past, concealing the truth to spare his friends from his burden. Now, though, it was clear he had been burdening them all along by silently enduring his abuse.

“Th-Thank you,” he muttered gratefully to his group of friends.

Nuzzling into David’s chest, Quentin sighed in genuine relief. He was content to take a pause and simply bask in the other male’s warmth yet the resurfacing of one peculiar, perplexing word had him frowning.

“Love?” he voiced faintly though he was sure the scrapper heard him.

“Oh, uh,” David stuttered out, face flushing an interesting shade of red. “I... umm—”

“What’s the secret cave?”

Huh, secret cave? Oh, right. Obviously they knew not of its existence and he probably should have explained it beforehand.

“It-It’s uh a hole in the wall,” he said while pushing the love comment aside temporarily to answer Laurie, “a crawl space in the basement of the school covered in children’s paintings.”

“Oh shit, tha—it’s here too, isn’t it?” Feng hesitantly questioned. “In this place?”

He nodded sadly and shifted uncomfortably in his position. At his pleading stare, David reluctantly retracted his arms and permitted Quentin to sit on his own. The abrupt loss of heat was disappointing though the fire compensated well enough.

“Our parents eventually caught on to what Freddy was doing,” Quentin resumed in a firmer tone of voice while wiping his tear tracks on his vest sleeve. “They saw signs, and we told them what Freddy had been doing to us. Once they knew, they formed a lynch mob and hunted him down to an old, abandoned warehouse just outside of town.”

“Woah! Seriously?” Feng commented in disbelief and as if the notion was completely crazy. “What ‘bout going to the cops?”

Quentin shook his head slowly and replied, “They didn’t wanna get the police involved.”

“W-Why?” Dwight asked.

“More than anything else,” he affirmed, “they wanted us to forget. Forget  _everything_  from our time at that preschool. They knew if they went to the police that we’d have to take the stand and testify against Freddy. If we did, the story would’ve been all over the news and... and then we’d  _never_  forget.”

His teeth sank into his lower lip, the blunt edges digging in slightly at the thought of their parents. How all of their efforts to protect them backfired and they probably never even knew, never understood just how badly they screwed up.

Licking away a tiny droplet of blood from his lip, Quentin eyed his friends and finished by saying, “So they hunted Freddy down… and they burned him alive.”

“By god,” Bill mumbled, forehead creasing just a touch to reveal his inner disgust.

“That’s seriously messed up,” Nea remarked to which the majority of the circle nodded along in agreement.

“Cunt deserved it ‘ough,” David proclaimed.

“No,” Quentin grimly argued, his eyes finding David’s to properly express his opinion. “Freddy deserved to  _rot_  in jail for his crimes. To die alone in the dark. He didn’t deserve what our parents did to him... what my father did to him.”

He sighed tiredly, his fingers brushing stray, itchy curls from his brow before commencing with the second half of his tale. “Time passed. We grew up, and we forgot all about the school and the man living in the basement. Just like our parents wanted. And they made sure to help it along too.”

“What did they do?” Claudette voiced curiously.  

“They hid things: school photographs, our old clothes and toys. Anything associated with that awful place, anything that could remind us of what happened there. But it didn’t help.”

Quentin lowered his head, his eyes lingering on the semi-faded design patterns adorning his sneakers.

“Freddy never died. He came back,” he confessed in a monotone voice, hand once more finding his medallion and cross pendant to grasp at. “He came back with a vengeance. Freddy came back and hunted down all of the kids from the school. One by one, he’d... he’d kill them, in their sleep.”

“Christ,” David muttered in horror.

“Tell me the cops finally stepped in?” Nea inquired in exasperation.

He chuckled dispassionately, plastered on a sad smile, and said, “Kinda hard to catch someone who isn’t there.”

“‘Isn’t there?’” Jake suspiciously questioned.

“What d’ya mean by ‘at?” David added.

Well this was going to be fun to explain. “Freddy’d come after us in our sleep. In our  _dreams_ ,” he emphasized with great importance. “Freddy would invade our dreams and kill us. Anything that happened when we were asleep transferred over to real life. You got cut in the dream world, you got cut in the real world.”

“A-And if you died?” Dwight asked, the fear in his voice plainly evident. “In the, in the dream world?”

“Then you died in the real world.”

“Sounds similar to what we deal with during the trials,” Bill keenly remarked.

“Not quite,” Quentin admitted. “The dream world in the trials is different from the dream world I know. Freddy’s, well, power seems to be weaker in trials. Much weaker. The  _real_  dream world’s worse.”

“‘ow so?” the scrapper asked.

“‘Cause in the real dream world, anything’s possible.  _Anything._  And the only limit is your imagination.”

“I don’t—I’m not sure I understand,” Laurie mumbled while appearing to still be contemplating his explanation.

“It’s like… he can do anything in the dream world. He can alter the environment or he can become anyone he wanted to be. And he cannot be hurt. Or killed,” he spat the ending out in annoyance.

“So he can turn into a dragon or a dog or something?” Nea offered.

“Uh, well no. A-At least not that I’ve seen,” he hastily added. “Just people. He’s impersonated you guys before, and some of my other friends too.”

“‘ow th—‘ow could he possibly do ‘at?” the scrapper stated incredulously.

Ace smacked a palm against his knee and yelled, “That’s crazy!”

Feng raised an eyebrow in the gambler’s direction and uttered, “It sounds like bullshit.”

Again with the bullshit. Always, always with the bullshit and how fitting it was for nearly every situation. Quentin let out a melancholy laugh and then said, “I really,  _really_  wish it was bullshit.”

“Is that why you rarely sleep?” Jake piped up, the saboteur’s question addressing a sensitive topic. “Is that how you died earlier? He killed you?”

“Yeah,” he despondently confirmed, “to all that.”

“Asshole,” Nea seethed in sheer rage. “Oh he’s gonna p—”

“Wait a minute, does ‘at mean h—Oh for fuck s—Is ‘at bastard still touchin’ ya?” David cut in and all but demanded, the man turning him in such a way to coil both burly hands around his biceps. “ _Is he?!_ ”

Oh god. Quentin had hoped no one would ask such a question. Thoroughly panicked by the unexpected inquiry, he slowly shook his head from side-to-side, his wide eyes never once veering away from the other male’s.

“Don’t lie ta me. P-Please don’t lie ta me,” the scrapper pleaded, the forcefulness in the man’s voice weakening with each word spoken.

He pursed his lips as they began to quiver again, his head hanging once more to look anywhere else. A series of distraught noises and comments followed but Quentin refused to look up or respond to their coaxing. Do not cry, his mind harshly commanded and he squeezed his eyelids shut in order to effectively carry out the order. God this was beyond humiliating. He was not about to accept any further questions or pity or whatever else on the matter. Not for this. He already felt sick to his stomach by wordlessly confirming it, the sensation driving the rank, burning tang of bile back into his esophagus.

In an attempt to change the subject, he decided to continue on where he left off in his story. “So he started killing us while saving the kids that stayed in Springwood for last,” Quentin stated, a little irked with himself from being unable to separate the pathetic whine from his tone. “Th-There were five of us who lived in town: Dean, Kris, Jesse, Nancy, and myself.”

A shaky puff of air bursting through his trembling lips broke his concentration for a moment. This was becoming rather difficult to choke out. “Freddy managed to get to Dean, Kris, and Jesse. They all died in their sleep but the police wrote it off as accidents or suicide. Only Nancy and I knew the truth but we didn’t know everything.”

Another excruciating pause was taken and surprisingly no interruptions of any sort were made. He was unsure of what was worse to handle: their constant questions or their eerie silence.

“W-When we finally discovered the truth about our past, about the preschool and about Freddy, we thought we could stop him. We thought he was only killing us because he had been falsely accused and wrongly sentenced to death. Once we went to the school though, once we found the… the evidence, of what he did to us, we… we knew he’d never stop. Freddy came after us because we sold him out, and by killing us he’d be getting revenge on our parents as well.”

“That sick bastard,” Meg bit out through clenched teeth.

“Time was running out,” he went on to say. “We’d been awake for too long and the micro-naps just wouldn’t let up.”

“Micro-naps?” Ace questioned with an inquisitive eyebrow.

“When you stay awake for too long, you get them. It’s your brain’s way of recharging itself,” he explained as simplistically as possible. “Basically, it means you’re dreaming even if you’re awake.”

Dwight placed a finger to her lip and uttered, “L-Like sleepwalking?”

“Yeah,” he responded, “something like that. But micro-naps only last a few seconds. W-Well, most of the time.”

“Think I actually mighta had one of those before,” Feng confessed. “I’d been gaming for hours straight and then suddenly there was random bullshit in the game that wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Hallucinating’s a part of it,” Quentin responded.

“Guess mine were pretty harmless compared to ours though,” the gamer conceded in a soft voice.

“Yeah,” he agreed, grateful for the minor diversion from the tense building up in his gut. “Anyways, since we couldn’t stop Freddy in our dreams, Nancy suggested bringing him out to fight. If she could get a hold of him in the dream world and I woke her up, she’d pull Freddy into the real world.”

Meg wrinkled her nose and began to say, “How’d she come to tha—”

“She had pulled a piece of his sweater out before,” he interjected helpfully, “so it made sense that she could pull him out too.”

“Did she?” Bill asked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I woke her up, she pulled him through and we took him down.”

His happiness was short-lived as he literally felt the dejection manifest all over his face. “We thought the nightmare was over.”

“But it wasn’t,” Jake voiced as a statement rather than a question.

“No, it wasn’t. Freddy came back,  _again_ ,” he grumbled out irritably, “only this time he came after me and me alone. Bastard was pissed that I got in his way while trying to kill Nancy.”

“Wha’d that wanker do ta ya?” David spat venomously.

Eyeing the scrapper with slight concern, Quentin went to explain by saying, “Instead of taking me out right away, he wore me down. Days went by, and no matter what I did, Freddy was always there. Every time I closed my eyes, even just for a _minute_ , he’d be there.”

“Jesus,” Ace muttered, “y—”

“But while he was fucking around, I was learning,” he uttered with a higher level of vigour. “I memorized details about the dream world whenever I fell asleep, I researched ways on how to kill the sick fuck  _permanently_.”

“What about Nancy?” Claudette inquired.

“She... she knew Freddy returned. She knew immediately when he killed her mother right in front of her.”

“Fuck!” Feng cursed aloud.

“Poor girl,” Laurie mumbled in sympathy.

The mere thought of the artistic, reserved girl filled Quentin with sorrow and regret. “After that, she was committed to a mental hospital. No one believed her about what happened but she wasn’t exactly… she wasn’t quite herself anymore. Not after watching her mother die.”

Quentin found himself wiping his nose on his vest sleeve to prevent any undesired sniffles from being vocalized. “I don’t know for sure if she was dreaming about Freddy too. I… I never had the chance to ask. All I knew was that I just wanted her safe,” he stated adamantly. “I wanted to end this once and for all.”

“Wha’ ‘bout you?” David questioned in a heated tone.

“As long as I killed Freddy, I didn’t care what happened to m—”

A harsh, stinging slap across his cheek interrupted his sentence. Quentin initially believed David had been the one to deliver the blow yet, when he turned back, he was utterly stunned to find the culprit to be none other than Claudette. It was incredibly surprising, entirely unexpected in fact, that the botanist herself had struck him given her lack of aggression.

“It  _does_  matter,” the botanist stressed in the form of a whisper, “so don’t you dare say that again. You matter, you matter  _to us_.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he offered without knowing how to respond otherwise.

A quick glance around their circle confirmed that the others agreed with Claudette’s perspective. He really needed to stop underestimating how dearly his friends cared for him. A gentle kiss was pressed to his abused cheek as some sort of an apology to which he graciously accepted. What had he done to deserve these guys as friends? Whether he found an answer or not, he was happy to have them by his side no matter what.

“The Entity ended up abducting Freddy and I before we could kill each other. And now I’m here,” he concluded lamely with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.

“And you’re not alone,” the botanist muttered while embracing him and burying her face into the crevice of his neck.

“You’ve done well soldier,” Bill praised in a very veteran-like manner, “but it’s high time you let your comrades take some of the heat.”

Feng pumped a fist in the air and declared, “We're definitely not losing to this guy.”

“Hell yeah!” Nea and Dwight exclaimed in unison, though their leader’s response was less exaggerated.

“That creepy perv’s gonna have to deal with all of us first,” Meg promised.

“We’re going all in on this one with you kid,” Ace assured with Jake and Laurie nodding along beside the gambler.

“Damn right,” David stated enthusiastically.

Quentin grazed his fingers over his medallion and cross pendant before dropping his hand to appreciatively stutter out, “Th-Thank you guys.”

The others crowded in once more for another tender group hug.

“Th-Thank you s-so much.” He had never felt lighter and more liberated in his entire life than he did now. With the love and support of his friends, Quentin prayed his struggle here might further strengthen the bonds they shared with one another. And with said bonds, perhaps they all might move forward towards a better, happier future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bits involving Nancy Holbrook and her fate after the movie are of my own personal representation. It seemed fitting that she experienced a break down after witnessing her mother dying, gruesomely, by Freddy's hand. Quentin visited her once in the mental institution where she was committed before his father forbid him from seeing her again—Alan Smith had always been apprehensive of Nancy and her peculiar behaviour even before this fiasco surrounding Gwen Holbrook's disappearance. During his visit, Nancy—though not in the greatest of mind sets—returned Quentin's necklace to him and claimed, "You need this now more than I do."


	22. The Balancing Point Between Life And Death

David found himself keeping a careful eye on their resident insomniac, never once letting the teen out of his sight for too long.

The things Quentin had confessed to them, the things the poor guy had suffered through. It was too unbearable to ponder. A handful of emotions had circulated through his mind at the time: the numbing shock which coursed through his system upon hearing the truth; the sadness he felt observing Quentin vocalize his hardships; the fear he experienced for the boy when he confronted his nemesis alone; the complete disgust he harboured for the monster responsible for Quentin’s misery; and the utter wrath he wished to inflict on said monster.

After that soul crushing reveal, they had all agreed to monitor Quentin whenever possible, and someone would even buddy up with him during a trial just in case. So far, their intervention seemed to limit the boy’s exposure to Krueger, but those accursed micro-naps were impossible to predict or prevent.

Their valiant feats did not go unnoticed either for, according to Quentin, The Nightmare had apparently caught on to their plan. What a pain in the ass.

As luck would have it, there had—thus far—been no trials involving that sick bastard which was a blessed relief. For Quentin anyhow but not necessarily for David since he was practically salivating at the prospect of beating the vile pervert into the cold dirt. Regardless, until the time came, if it ever did, David remained on his guard and acted as a vigil for their youngest male survivor.

Currently Quentin was lingering on the bank of one of the many ponds they frequently visited. The boy maintained a cautious distance away from the water, merely sitting on the grass-covered ground with bent knees and eyes gazing out at the scene almost forlornly. He never understood why the teen refused to enter the water. Fear perhaps, or maybe the enchanting sight reminded the boy of something painful. Personally he could not imagine surviving in this place without some sort of amenity, and not to utilize it whenever possible was almost criminal. Who knew how long they might last otherwise? There could come a time where their precious ponds disappeared, vanished within the fog as if they had never existed. David was content not to dwell on that possibility though.

“How’s he doing?” a voice whispered from behind and caused him to jump out of his skin. Thankfully his reaction did not result in a verbal outburst. His presence may not be appreciated by Quentin, but he could not in good conscious leave the boy to potentially fall asleep without anyone around.

“Fuck sake’s mate,” he hissed at the gambler when the man became illuminated in the aero blue lighting, “don’t do ‘at.”

Ace muttered a brief apology and proceeded to look upon the teen in question.

“He’s fine,” David quickly voiced, his gaze shifting back to the youngster in the distance.

The gambler hummed lowly and then muttered, “Y’know, you don’t have to watch over him  _all_  the time. He’s being polite about it but I know he’s a little tired of us hanging offa him like clingy showgirls.”

David lightly tapped the mossy bark of the tree he was leaning on and replied, “He can’t see us ‘ere.”

“That’s...” Ace paused to sigh, the man sounding slightly displeased by his comment. “That’s not the point David. You’re still  _around_ him.”

“I’m worried,” David admitted softy.

“We all are,” the gambler enforced sternly, “and we’re doing all we can for him.”

“Funny,” he mumbled in a deadpanned tone of voice, “I don’t seem ta recall anyone else out ‘ere watchin’ ‘im.”

“Is it ‘cause of guilt?” David chose not to dignify that question with a response. Ace stomped his foot against the ground, the grass muffling the blunt impact, and then wearily grumbled out, “David.”

“Ace,” he responded plainly.

Their back-and-forth banter certainly was not leading to anything productive, and he was not keen on staying the course. If the gambler had nothing better to say than he had more important things to do.

Staring ahead, he noticed Quentin beginning to draw lines into the loose dirt. Though he was unable to make out the teenager’s artwork, David occasionally received a glimpse of the boy’s mouth. Those soft lips shaped into a consistent dispiriting frown, and the sight caused his heart to twist in equivalent sadness.

“You haven’t told him yet?” Ace questioned though he knew the man meant it as a statement.

David shook his head yet realized a second later the gesture might go unseen, so he added, “No.”

He heard faint shuffling noises before registering the gambler directly beside him whispering in his ear, “What’re you waiting for?”

David half-heartedly shrugged and then dispassionately mumbled, “He doesn’t need ‘at right now.”

“‘That?’” Ace asked, clearly perplexed. David sensed the other’s raise of an eyebrow without physically seeing it.

“He needs a friend,” he responded while completely dodging the original question.

“He’s got plenty of those,” the gambler stated matter-of-factly.

Not perturbed in the slightest, David carried on by saying, “He needs to be protected.”

“We are,” Ace reiterated with a slight sharp edge in his tone, “but  _constantly_  following him around, watching him like a hawk, isn’t the right play. One of these times he’s gonna letcha have it.”

“I can ‘andle it,” he responded quickly.

“And what about your needs?”

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Ace contested softly, “you’re not.” The gambler placed a sturdy palm on his shoulder likely in an attempt to acquire his full attention, and stated, “You’re hardly sleeping now.”

Agitation started to blossom, the seed taking hold and sprouting within the pit of his gut. David shifted uncomfortably against the tree murmured a snippy, “Don’t feel like sl—”

“You’re not gonna be of any help to him, or anyone else, if you’re dosing off.” There was a nail-biting moment where nothing was said but Ace eventually broke the silence by hesitantly remarking, “You’re more  _hostile_  too.”

Snarling in irritation, David whipped around to demonstrate his supposed hostility only for a palm to promptly slap over his mouth.

“I get it,” Ace muttered, his tone conveying his understanding of the situation. The gambler’s body language suggested the other was apprehensive of him, but Ace displayed no signs of flinching or fleeing. In this position, the man was essentially vulnerable to attack but he, despite the rising urge, refused to commit to even a single punch.

After a minute, David reigned in his speedy breathing and willed his muscles to relax, the surge of combative energy draining out of him like droplets of water dripping from a leaky faucet.

“But being angry and tired’s not a good hand to hold onto.” The gambler retracted his hand and took a calculated step back likely for the sake of personal space.

“All I’m saying is that the kid’s capable of handling himself... for an emotional marshmallow,” Ace added endearingly, the comment bringing about an unexpected grin to David’s face. “And I know he appreciates what we’re doing for him, but he should still be allowed a little leash. Y’know…  _privacy_.”

“‘at’s why I’m standin’ way over ‘ere.”

A moderately intense yet swift slap upside the head answered his statement. Normally he would be inclined to retaliate, but he understood where the gesture was coming from. Perhaps he was being a bit overprotective of the lad. Still, he was not about to completely disappear either.

“ _Anyways_ , in your case, just don’t wait for too long. I’m not saying to show your hand right away. Give it a bit of time, and then pitch your chips in.”

Pitch his chips in? What was the man referring to? “Wha’re you on ‘bout now?”

“Think about what you’re going to say to Quentin and then go do it,” Ace elaborated. “Last thing you wanna do is let a good opportunity pass you by. Then you’re left wondering what coulda been... what shoulda been,” the gambler mumbled almost sadly, the tone causing David to eye the other male curiously.

“Guessin’ ya ‘ad a similar experience?”

Ace huffed humorously though the noise did not match his posture. “Ladies y’know,” the man said with a shrug, “they’re a dime a dozen.” The gambler peered up to supposedly gaze at the dark sky—he had to assume given the guy’s shades. “But then a flawless gem comes ‘round and leaves you a breathless, blundering mess.”

“A fine lass I reckon?”

“The fineness,” Ace uttered gently. “Met her at Casino di Campione, and boy was she something special. Normally my focus was on the game but something about her... I don’t know, she was different. Not a gold digger or a fortune finder or an opportunist. Just a lovely, young woman expanding her horizons.”

“We spent several nights together,” the man continued after a tense minute, “basking in each other’s company, but my mind always returned to the game, and the riches to be had. I-I...”

Ace trailed off to gulp, the action looking quite painful by the way the other male’s throat contorted. David was almost positive he saw a tear streak hastily down the gambler’s cheek. “I always thought there’d be others, some other gem in the future. But Lady Luck’s fickle, and I discovered too late that there was no one else like her.”

“She wasn’t...” David was going to say killed given that the crowds which flocked to casinos were not so dissimilar from the ones he found in pubs. Granted both crowds exhibited different etiquette, but both were prone to violence all the same.

“Worse,” Ace uttered, the man perhaps guessing what he was trying to say. “Stumbled ‘cross her couple years later with a dapper gentleman by her side and an expensive rock on her finger.”

David frowned at the gambler, the bitter ending of the Ace’s tale driving him to say, “‘at’s rough mate. I—”

“Quentin’s a gem, David. A gorgeous sapphire I’d wager. And maybe he’s got a nick here and there,” Ace subtly veered away from his prior sympathy. The man clapped him on the shoulder and then rotated back towards the direction of the campfire. “But he’s still flawless.”

With those parting words, David watched the gambler disappear into the darkness and he muttered a quiet, “Yeah... I know.”

What was he waiting for? David was not totally certain, or rather he did not wish to accept the genuine reason for his hesitation.

Again, he was afraid.

He was afraid of voicing his feelings aloud for fear of what might occur. He was afraid his love and affection would only lead to a miserable, lonely outcome—just like with his father. All his effort to strengthen his relationship with his father meant nothing to the man: his academic prowess, his sporting endeavors, his impressive physique. Nothing, absolutely nothing. From his childhood, he had been under the impression wealthy parents enjoyed bragging about their kids to pad their ego more. His father, however, was an exception and the man had simply preferred to ignore his existence. Fortunately his mother, bless her heart, was never so negligent though he never had to impress her to garner her affection. Despite everything, she loved him no matter what. And you rejected her, his mind supplied to which he simply shook his head sorrowfully. He never should have.

But things with Quentin might be different.

Maybe his feelings would be reciprocated, or perhaps not. David was unsure if Quentin even fancied the company of other men. The only individual he ever expressed any interest in was the girl he was taken from: Nancy. Though, if their conversations together and the boy’s confession were anything to go by, their interest in one another did not seem concrete. Quentin expressed great interest in ensuring Nancy survived—healthy and happy—but, beyond that, the insomniac was rather vague about his feelings towards the girl.

There was also that strange game Meg proposed way back when, and David recalled that Quentin chose Laurie and Jake as his top picks as girlfriend and boyfriend. It was just a rubbish game mate, his mind piped up before he delved into the details too much.

“Shut it,” he hissed aggressively to himself.

The voice was absolutely correct. Christ, he was obsessing over this like an emotional girl! If he held off any longer, his stupid brain was going to drive him barking mad.

“Qu—Oh, for Christ’s sake!” David gruffly whined at the chilling sensation surrounding his body. What terrible timing!

He briefly registered Quentin spying him out through the trees before his surroundings faded to black and he was carried off with the ever-present, pitch-black fog.

\--------------------

As the thick mist retreated, David was greeted by the sight of rotten corn stocks, hay bales, and farming equipment. All of which he instantly scowled at. Why was this realm always so popular? Was the Entity secretly an evil farmer?

Head in the game mate! This was not the time to internally bitch.

“David,” a voice murmured from behind.

Spinning around slightly, he managed to spot Dwight a few paces away crouched behind a circular bale of hay. He offered a nod in acknowledgement at the leader and silently followed the other male to a nearby generator.

“Been doin’ okay mate?” David asked while tinkering with the insides of the grimy machine.

“Y-Yeah,” Dwight whispered back. “I feel like I’m getting better. S-Slowly.”

“I know a certain pretty lass feels the same,” he commented with the accompaniment of an eyebrow wiggling suggestively.

The softest tint of pink surfaced on the leader’s pale cheeks as Dwight uttered, “C-Claudette has been a big h-help.”

“Do anythin’  _interestin’_  yet?”

“I-Interesting?”

“Y’know,” David emphasized with a wink, “‘ave you shagged ‘er yet?”

Dwight paused in repair work to provide a perplexed head tilt to him. “‘Shagged?’”

“ _Sex_ Dwight,” he deadpanned. “‘ave you ‘ad sex with ‘er?”

“N-No, no,” the leader barely managed to choke out, his pale face immediately flushing an amusing shade of red. “We uh… We’re not umm... I-I mean we’ve n-never—”

“‘ad sex before?” David stated bluntly. God, this was priceless. “Was kinda obvious ya guys ‘ad no experience.”

“R-Right,” Dwight stammered, “of-of course.”

“If ya ever needs any tips, f—”

“I’ll ask!” the leader squeaked out lightning fast. “Thank you David!”

David chuckled at the other’s male flustered antics and, to his surprise, Dwight had a few laughs as well.

The leader tapped his forearm a moment later to ask, “Do you need help?”

“Gettin’ laid?”

“N-No, not  _that_ ,” Dwight stressed in a hurry. “I meant with Quentin.”

“Oh Christ,” David sighed out slowly while mentally facepalming, “not you too.”

“What?”

“Why’s everyone goin’ on ‘n’ on ‘bout me and Quentin?”

Dwight coughed awkwardly and then uttered, “Just thought you’d have said something by now, I-I guess.”

David exhaled tiredly, his forehead bumping against the machine for no reason, and then said, “Feels like everybody’s forcin’ me ta do it.”

“No! We’re not. It-It’s just...” Dwight stuttered, apparently trying to find the correct words to say. “It’d be a nice thing to uh, see happen. Y’know, make you smile more, or umm, something.”

“Smile more,” he murmured thoughtfully under his breath.

A shriek abruptly pierced the air—the shrill cry belonging to Nea if he was not mistaken.

Conversation was over. “I’ll go,” David declared. “Finish the gen.”

Dwight offered a stiff, slightly nervous nod and then David was rushing off to aid the tag artist. Several cows cawed in his passing as he walked along the adjacent outskirts of the cornfield.

She had to be close, but where?

Pressing on, a series of soft sobs drew his attention to a swinging figure neatly tucked away behind a tall stack of circular hay bales. No killer lurked nearby either from the sounds and looks of things. He had better make this quick before that changed.

“I gotcha lass,” David asserted as he rushed forth and hoisted the tag artist off of the contraption.

Nea appeared oddly unbalanced, her gashed arms barely steadying her as she lowered herself to the ground. There was no obvious expression for him to decipher though, if David had to guess, the tag artist almost appeared stunned, her face frozen in subtle shock.

An injured Bill suddenly emerged from thin air, muttered a barely audible curse, and crouched down in order to tend to Nea’s injuries. The tag artist offered no comment nor protest. Maybe she was dizzy from the pain, or the blood loss. Nea certainly had quite a few nasty lacerations littering her body. Too many in fact.

“Anger the killer or somethin’?” he inquired. “Christ, ya look—”

“It’s him,” Nea weakly sobbed out, “it’s The Nightmare... and he’s  _not_ happy.”

The Nightmare. David felt his fists clench at the mere mention of the monster’s name. Jaw set tightly, he bore his gaze into the injured girl and lowly hissed out, “Wha’d he do ta you?”

“He... it-it doesn’t matter,” she stammered out and then promptly winced—likely because she had inadvertently aggravated her wounds. “The gens, we gotta finish the gens. We gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“Wha’d he  _do?_ ” David repeated more sternly, bending down and grabbing at the tag artist’s bicep without thought.

“David,” the elder uttered faintly in warning.

Nea sniffled some and then revealed, “He’s really steamed with us for keeping Quentin awake. S-So he cut me up, but I jammed a piece of glass in his eye before anything worse happened.”

“That fuckin’ bastard,” David spat slowly in absolute rage, his anger igniting in full force to boil underneath his skin. “I’ll k—Dwight!”

“Dwight?” the veteran questioned.

“He-He’s in the trial. He—Oh god, I gotta find ‘im,” he hastily uttered and then raced off to find their leader.

Given Dwight’s previous encounter with The Nightmare, he did not wish to imagine what the killer might to do the other male this time around.

Maneuvering through a tiny cluster of walls and around countless more annoying hay bales, David followed the noise of gears and pistons grinding sporadically together. Circling around the area, David spied out the generator from earlier, fully repaired, but no Dwight.

“Dwight,” he whispered with concern. Shite, where had he ran off to?

A wet squelch underfoot had him peering down to examine his shoe. Blood, and unfortunately fresh and gooey. Eyes squinting at the dark soil, he discovered numerous damp patches scattered about the vicinity. The killer had located Dwight, that much was apparent, but where were they now?

As if on cue, a shrill scream echoed out directly ahead. The barn?

David stalked towards the fractured cowshed with purpose, his strides carrying him to the landing leading into the basement. The lullaby was crystal clear here and the fresh blood staining the stairwell suggested both Krueger and Dwight were down there. Time to save his friend and pulverize an entitled arsehole.

Puffing out a large breath, David speedily descended into the lower level. Rounding the wall, he immediately spotted Dwight suspended from a hook, the man kicking out blindly while fingers clawed frantically at the rusted contraption.

Drowsiness started setting in as he moved to unhook the struggling leader. “‘old on Dwight. I gotch—”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Dwight screeched in fear, the panicked leader summoning pulsating claws to pierce through his torso.

David stated wide-eyed at the now deceased man, his punctured corpse being carted into the air as the Entity greedily claimed the sacrifice.

“NO!” God dammit! He had been right there,  _right fucking there_ , and the other male just let go. Why?

“Aww,” a gravelly voice mockingly whined, “he let go. I was hoping to play with him for a little while longer.”

Of course. Bastard must have pushed Dwight into essentially committing suicide. David gritted his teeth and whirled around eerily slow on heel to eye the burned killer standing between him and the stairwell.

“Ya wanna play? Ya mangled knob ‘ead,” David spat angrily while urging The Nightmare forward. “Let’s ‘ave it ‘en.”

Instead of approaching, the killer merely regarded him with humour, the monster snickering away like the demon he was. Then Krueger began to circle him while looking all too ecstatic.

“You’ve been a  _very_  naughty boy David,” The Nightmare informed him with a teasing tone though the man’s slanted eyes spoke of the opposite. “Keeping me from my favourite boy.”

“Quentin’s  _not_ yours! And imma lamp ya dirty for wha’ ya did ta ‘im! And my f—”

“Oh?” Krueger voiced rather pleasingly. David was truly sick of hearing that noise. “So my little Quentin decided to gossip ab—”

“Shut yer trap!” David yelled furiously and proceeded to charge at the man.

David launched a fist forward only for The Nightmare to duck down and grab his forearm. The killer attempted to flip him over and onto his back but David held firm and kneed the man in the stomach. Krueger released his grip on him and made to swing but David blocked the blow. Sadly the killer’s gloved hand struck his unguarded side, the blades slicing effortlessly into his side.

Stepping back briefly, David regained his bearings and rushed in once more. He faked another swing and tackled the man to the grungy floor. Holding the killer there, David climbed on top of Krueger and delivered a powerful right cross to the man below.

The Nightmare however just smiled, the man showing little signs of distress or pain. Growling irritably, David proceeded to administer an abundance of right-handed blows, one after the other in rapid succession.

Likely growing bored of his pitiful antics, Krueger wrestled his gloved hand free and drove his blades deeply into David’s gut. Grinning viciously at the blood gushing out around his knifes, The Nightmare capitalized on the successful strike by retracting his blades and swiftly slashing David across the face.

“GAH!” he shouted in agony, the stinging blow sending him flying to the side.

David clutched his shredded face while his wounds throbbed with a life of their own. The slice had nicked his left eye and there were no words to describe how excruciating it felt—the sight of red completely overtaking his vision.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Krueger tutted while towering over him. “You never learn do you? Although, I find stubborn boys are often the most rewarding to… _teach_.”

David cried out when the killer savagely kicked him onto his back and pinned him down.

“And I admire your energy,” the man idly commented while getting right in his face. “It rivals my little Quentin’s well.”

David snarled and attempted to shake the monster off of him but the man crazy strong for a lanky gardener. Krueger chuckled, low and foreboding, at his unsuccessful struggles, the man running steel claws leisurely down his clothed torso before locking eyes with him once more.

“But Quentin is  _mine_ ,” the bastard enunciated meaningfully, rancid breath filling the minuscule space between their faces. “Nothing and no one in this world will change that. But...” Krueger paused to stab his blades into David’s biceps—starting with the right and then moving to the left—and the monster smirked stupidly when two pained shouts resulted from twisting the steel around in the wounds. “If you insist on getting in my way... I’ll make sure you all  _suffer_  for it.”

With that, The Nightmare roughly grabbed him and threw him unceremoniously onto a meat hook.

David had not the strength to cry out nor lash out at the monster. His will to fight was receding rapidly alongside all the blood in his body.

He desired nothing more than to struggle, grasp the infernal hook and heave himself free. But his arms were useless having gone almost entirely numb and refusing to cooperate with his commands. God damn that bastard!

This scenario went far better in his head than in practice. He hoped if his desires were strong enough, if he inflicted enough damage, that his blows might actually sink in. A naïve belief perhaps yet it kept his mind from shattering into flimsy pieces. Hope was the only consistent aspect that prevented all of them from succumbing to total despair. And he would be damned if he caved now.

“Son,” a gruff voice softly called out. Swift pressure resided under his armpits and then he was suddenly free from his curved restraint. David collapsed awkwardly into the elder but Bill managed to keep him upright.

“Jesus, you’re seriously fubar,” the elder commented while examining him. “Gonna getcha patched up in a second. Just hold on.”

Then his world blurred in a haze of pain and dizziness as he was heaved onto something solid. Not that he was ungrateful for the save, but what about the generators? Were they completed already?

Even the slightest thought zapped him of what little energy he had to spare, and he found his neck slouching slackly on Bill’s shoulder as the veteran carried him to some unknown destination.

Everyone else which ensued afterwards flicked in and out of his mind like a stop-motion reel missing several key shots. He had felt pressure in several different places, and his brain at one point had registered some sort of heat surrounding his torso. A myriad of other indistinguishable noises rang in his eardrums for a time, each noise disorienting what little focus he blearily held onto.

Then nothing, the prolonged stretch of silence allowing his mind to drift in a comforting, mental fog.

Sadly the moment was short lived—or so he believed it to be—when a blaring horn jostled him back into consciousness. Despite nearly scaring the shit out of him, the sound of the horn gave him an unexpected surge of adrenaline. Glancing down at himself, David also noticed all of his injuries had been tended to and Bill had draped his olive-coloured jacket over top of him. Without a moment’s rest, he rose stiffly to his feet and set off to begin his hunt.

While David greatly appreciated the combined efforts of Bill and Nea—in repairing generators and saving his sorry ass—he had no intention of leaving without confronting the killer one final time.

He trekked through the realm as swiftly as his body permitted, squinting left and right for signs of life with his one, unbandaged eye. His ears remained alert for any singing though none could be heard. This was getting tiresome. Maybe he should just start calling out to the bastard. Why was he being so stealthy anyways?

His awareness barely withstanding, David narrowly tripped over a chest in the cornfield. Pettily kicking the thing, he begrudgingly opted to search it for anything of use, his scrounging surprisingly yielding a sturdy flashlight. The device brought a smirk to his lips, a unique idea forming in his mind of exactly how to use it—if given the chance.

Off in the distance, he spotted an exit gate, the mighty steel door fully open to show the life-saving fog beyond. He had to do a double take to ensure his straining eye was not deceiving him. Had his friends left him behind? Surely they would never do something like that unless, of course, they were forced to leave.

Humming suspiciously, David moved to the gate, the giant arches gradually closing in as he strode forth. Children leisurely chanting away invaded his ears, the sound amplifying the closer he ventured to the open gate.

David felt his head droop, the motion drawing his attention to the ground where he gasped in alarm. There, several feet away from the escape route, laid Nea and Bill, their bodies practically motionless as they slowly bled out.

David pressed his lips into a tight line, his head slowly shaking from side-to-side as he seethed out, “Bastard.”

“D-David,” Nea croaked out, her eyes barely open, “g-go… run.”

“H-Hurry,” Bill added with urgency.

Disregarding their pleas, David tilted his neck up and found himself staring into the smug, wrinkled face of The Nightmare.

“You ‘urt ’em,” David heatedly muttered, almost noiselessly, though he knew the killer heard him.

Krueger cackled something fierce, the man gestured to the two bodies at his feet and stated, “A little physical discipline ensures the lesson sticks. Wouldn’t you agr—”

“Oi, cunt!” David shouted abruptly to silence the man. “I couldn’t be mithered ‘bout ya pal. Yer too fuckin’ pathetic, but I will say this.”

Making himself appear as intimidating as possible, David puffed out his chest and stood tall in the face of death. “No matter wha’ ‘appens, no matter wha’ you do… I’ll be ‘ere,” he resolutely promised, “I’ll be ‘ere gettin’ in yer way ‘n’ savin’ my friends!”

The Cheshire grin The Nightmare sported instantly dropped and was replaced with an unreadable one. The expression partially resembled passive aggressiveness but the rest was unknown.

“After all,” David added cheekily, “ _stubborn boys_ neva learn.”

Mere seconds later, Krueger was lunging forward with uncharacteristic swiftness, a look of pure rage etched on his face.

David allowed a ghost of a smile to graze his lips as he ducked under the man’s furious swing. Getting in close, he jammed a large fist into the killer’s stomach. When Krueger gasped from the impact, David pried the bastard’s mouth open and shoved the handle of the flashlight down his exposed throat. Before the killer could shake him off, or dislodge the object crammed in his windpipe, David drove his elbow into the lamp of the flashlight, effectively driving the device deep within Krueger’s esophagus. The handle must have scraped something too as black, foul-smelling blood spurted out from the charred hole on the killer’s cheek.

With the man temporarily dispatched, David crumpled under his own weight. His strength had officially abandoned him, his limbs refusing to respond as the last remnants of adrenaline in his veins ebbed away. At least he nailed that barbecued fucker, and it had felt so damn good!

“Come on!” the elder implored anxiously from his side.

When did he? No, how did Bill recover? David huffed contently from his position on the gritty dirt. Ever the unbreakable man Bill was. He owed the older gent greatly after this.

The veteran threw him over his back for the second time and booked it to the safety of the thick, rolling fog on the other side of the threshold.

No, wait, where was Nea? They were not leaving without her!

“Nea?” David mumbled out exhaustedly.

Bill readjusted his hold on David when the man began to squirm and then dejectedly huffed out, “Bled out.”

David uttered a foul curse in response, his teeth digging into his bottom lip mercilessly.

Just before breaching the misty barrier, he cranked his neck back to observe the man glaring at their retreating forms—the flashlight regrettably absent from the killer’s mouth. If David had been capable, he would have stayed behind and went a few more rounds with the prick.

Krueger was indeed going to pay for this and so much more. The other killers here never produced such aggravation. Granted, every killer provided them with a rough time, some more so than others, but The Nightmare was a gross exception. The burned bastard seemed capable of doing whatever he pleased without consequence. Either the Entity was indulging the man’s whims or Krueger had more power than he realized.

He, as a survivor, may be at a disadvantage when facing the killers of this world, but he was by no means weak. As such, one way or another, trials and Entity be damned, David vowed to exact his revenge on The Nightmare.


	23. A Reckless Mistake

It had been many trials since his distressing confession and, honestly, Quentin harboured mixed feelings about the results. On the one hand, episodes involving the dream demon diminished to a bare minimum. As such, Freddy had begun throwing tantrums left and right during micro-naps about losing his cherished victim before any _fun_ could commence. Up until now, the spectacle had been quite amusing to watch, assuming of course he was not filleted for laughing his ass off. Although, it was probably unwise to anger the man so despite the quality entertainment being such a welcome sight.

Conversely, with less rest came extreme exhaustion once more, the feeling seemingly creeping up on him more rapidly than previous occasions. Staying awake, or rather being kept awake, was taking a repeated toll on his body and mind: his performance during trials had grown poor again though his friends held no blame against him; his normally high patience had been replaced with bouts of emotional instability or, more precisely, random mood swings; his body temperature, of all bizarre things, was abnormally cold, as if the Entity itself was leeching his body of all warmth; and his poor eyes hardly had any moisture left in them, the corneas essentially converting into miniature deserts with how dry and irritated they were.

Simply stated, lack of sleep was killing him. Perhaps not literally though death might be preferable to the agony he opted to endure. If there existed an ultimate challenge for whomever stayed awake the longest, he would have definitely won by now.

Another unexpected downside to his shameful reveal was his amazingly generous and caring friends. Quentin genuinely appreciated their help but they all tended to swarm him rather frequently, constantly asking how he was doing or if he wanted to talk about his problems. Despite becoming close with everyone, he was still an introvert at heart. Furthermore, this constant attention was a little frustrating to bear with, and the repetitive questions even more so. He had already told them enough for fuck’s sake! What else did they want from him?

“Qu—Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

Quentin perked up at the sudden noise, his eyes scanning the vicinity with scrutiny. Seconds later, he just barely spied David out hidden amongst the trees before the man was swept away in a fog.

Great. Apparently David had been shadowing him, and possibly for the whole time he had been out here too. He knew the others were worried for his wellbeing and state of consciousness, but was it so much to ask for a bit of space? He supposed the Entity granted his request by whisking David away, and this somehow managed to trigger deep thoughts about the scrapper.

Quentin still had not quite forgiven David for the things the man had claimed about him. Supposedly, the brute did not wish for him to know but Meg, being her usual gossipy self, shared with him the sensitive details—just to be helpful, as she had phrased it. Helpful his ass. He did not appreciate being thought of as a faker, and he especially disliked David’s ‘skittish little lamb’ comment. But it was evidently said in anger, and Meg had claimed David seriously regretted his words afterwards. Hence why the brawny male swore them all to secrecy no doubt.

The whole thing, the whole bullshit matter in fact, forced a tired sigh up from his lungs. He supposed, given sufficient time, he could fully forgive David. Until then, he was content not to stir the virtually empty pot any further given how emotional crap was one of the current banes to his existence right now.

Still, none of that explained why David was stalking him like some sort of determined Myers doppelganger all the time. He thought to deduce an answer for himself but decided it was easier to seek out a more accurate and reliable source. A distraction and a change of scenery were in order anyways, and moving about would help ward off the drowsiness.

Fixated on obtaining some answers, Quentin sought out the campfire, lethargy hampering his stride every step of the way. Surely someone was bound to be hanging around the fire, someone he could nag for information.

His eyelids drooped temporarily, his skull nearly following suit before he caught himself and shook his head furiously from side-to-side. Come on, his brain tiredly stressed, do not fall asleep. Freddy would certainly gush with delight if he succumbed to the heavenly call of sleep if the sick bastard’s previous taunts were of any indication.

“I miss you Quentin,” he had recalled Freddy claiming in his most recent micro-nap, the words causing him to shiver in revulsion. “You know you can’t avoid me forever,” the sinister voice had continued, the statement hanging in the air like an unwanted, pungent smell.

Quentin sighed, despising the dream demon for consistently toying with him. Freddy really did not have anything better to do, did he? Sadly, the dream demon was right. Sooner or later, sleep would sink its powerful talons into him, drag him through the senseless abyss and deposit him right into the man’s vile embrace. Even if his friends managed to keep him from nodding off, he did not know how much additional torment he could withstand. The nightmares, though utterly horrible and disturbing, still constituted as sleep. And he needed to fucking sleep!

Rubbing his eyes and reigning in his irritability, Quentin entered into the main campground, the fire burning at his orbs and adding to the terrible stinging sensation residing there.

Ace and Claudette were seemingly chatting about something intriguing, both nearly too consumed in their conversation to notice his presence. Only when he drew closer did the two cease conversing to acknowledge him, their solemn faces visible for but a moment before being skillfully hidden.

“Heya kid,” Ace greeted as he heavily plopped down beside the gambler on the log.

“Hey.”

Claudette reached across the gambler to place a gentle hand on his knee, the comforting warmth of her palm radiating through his jeans. She offered him a small smile and asked, “Did you... were you alright out there?”

Quentin noted her somewhat nervous question with slight annoyance but nonetheless answered with a sleepily slurred, “Yeah, was fine.”

The botanist hummed contently while Ace offered him a brief, affectionate clap on the shoulder.

“David was watching me,” he uttered after an awkward moment.

“He’s worried ‘bout you,” the gambler stated with Claudette nodding along in agreement. “We all are.”

He yawned widely, the action aggravating his jaw from the strain before voicing, “I-I know, but... Can I ask you guys something?”

“‘Course you can,” Ace uttered enthusiastically, the man removing his shades and tucking them in his jacket pocket. It was a rarity seeing those sparkling eyes up close. Why the man constantly wore those sunglasses of his had to be a gambling something or rather. Gamblers hid their eyes to avoid revealing their hand to their opponents when playing right?

Claudette appeared in his peripheral vision when his silence stretched on. Her expression morphed into one of worry, her eyebrows pinching together in presumable pain as she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong,” he swiftly assured her with a nervous smile. “It’s just that, well I... David’s really protective of me lately. And I get it, I-I do, but he’s really  _really_  protective. It seems like every time I turn around, he’s there. Or he’s always where I am. It’s strange, and you guys are around too, b-but something’s definitely different about this a—”

“I do enjoy listening to that lovely voice of yours,” Ace spoke humorously, possibly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “but you’re starting to ramble.”

Quentin abruptly paused, an embarrassed flush highlighting his cheeks to display his humiliation in full force. He hated when he rambled but sometimes he just could not help himself.

“Is he bothering you?” Claudette murmured softly, almost solemnly too if his ears heard correctly.

“Yeah—I mean no! He’s not, he’s... okay,” he relented, “it’s a little annoying, but that’s not what I was getting at.”

Ace raised a questioning eyebrow at him and then said, “Then what’re a—”

“I don’t know!” he unintentionally snapped, hands rapidly balling into fists in his lap. “I don’t know how to explain it because I barely understand what’s going on!”

“Honey,” Claudette muttered sympathetically, the woman moving around to his other side and pulling him into a sideways hug. “Deep breaths.”

The botanist demonstrated the process likely to help calm his nerves and, after a few tense seconds, he followed her example. Deep inhale through the nose and gentle exhale out through the mouth. A few more of those and he felt thoroughly relaxed but infinitely more exhausted. And also registered what a complete dick he had been to Ace. Sleep deprivation was truly kicking him to the curbside and straight into the street to be mowed down by oncoming traffic.

“M’sorry Ace,” he apologized wearily. “I didn’t—”

“No worries kid,” Ace reassured.

The gambler extended a hand outward, a silent offer for additional comfort to which Quentin sluggishly accepted. He snuggled into Ace’s collar while ignoring the itchy fabric mildly irritating his skin. “I know where it’s coming from.” The man rubbed his back soothingly and rested his chin atop of his beanie-clad head before inquiring, “Did David talk to you at all?”

Quentin hummed unintellectually at the question, his body slumping comfortably into the other male’s own. Normally this kind of touching would freak him out, cause him to involuntarily flinch or shy away from the contact, but he felt oddly at ease where he was. Resting against a body was a definite improvement over lying against a tree or on the hard ground.

“Quen?” Claudette whispered while giving his arm a shake. “You’re falling asleep.”

“Hmm, wha...” It took his brain a moment to realize what was happening. Just a few minutes, his mind desperately begged but he resisted. For now. “Oh, right. I-I’m awake,” he professed, sitting up and rubbing at his stinging orbs again. “And uh, talk to me about what?”

“So that’s a ‘no’ then?”

“It’s a no,” he answered the male, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

“How d’you feel about David?” the botanist piped up suddenly.

“Huh?” Maybe coming here was not the best idea. He could scarcely keep up with this conversation and it seemed to be turning into a mind game of sorts—not something he was interested in partaking in.

“David,” she reiterated with the accompaniment of a cute, little head tilt. “How do you feel about him?”

“Umm,” he voiced unintellectually. “I’m not sure I—Can’t you just tell m—”

“Dwight!” Claudette squeaked in surprise, the leader managing to stealthily sneak up on the lot of them. “Dwight?” she voiced again with worry when the sobbing leader tightly embraced the botanist from behind. Both seated males were on their feet in an instant and crowding around Dwight with concern.

“I-I didn’t mean to leave them with him,” the leader shakily uttered, “but I d-did. _I did!_ ”

Teary eyes meeting his own, Dwight let out an odd kind of gasp before releasing Claudette and shuffling closer to embrace him.

“I’m so sorry,” the man sobbed lowly into his ear.

“Sorry?” Quentin questioned curiously while reciprocating the hug. “Dwight what’s go—”

“Having to deal with him all the time,” Dwight began to explain, “it’s just, I can’t... no, I can’t imagine. And somehow you, I-I could never handle what you do.”

Okay, now this was truly getting weird. “What’re you talking ab... Freddy,” he whispered in realization.

He hastily shifted out of the other male’s grip to eye Dwight with wide, panicky eyes. “You were in a trial with him? What happened? What’d he do to you? If he came after you ag—”

“Slow down th—”

“Nothing!” Dwight stressed, effectively cutting off the verbal intervention from Ace. “H-He teased me, he taunted me, talked about all the f-fun _games_ we could p-play together. But he didn’t do anything to me! And I-I-I was so scared. I just wanted him to go away, to get his voice outta my head, so I... I let the Entity have me.”

“What?” Ace exclaimed.

“Oh Dwight,” Claudette whispered in sadness.

Quentin was stunned at the revelation but he understood Dwight’s fight or flight response well enough. Freddy enjoyed his mind games, reveled in coaxing a reaction from his prey—it was utterly sickening.

Resituating his arms around the leader’s shaking back, Quentin buried his mouth into the crevice of Dwight’s neck and said, “It’s not your fault. Freddy... he likes screwing with people, but it’s mostly just talk.” Quentin allowed Dwight to cry into his shoulder a while longer before pulling away to eye the leader critically. “I’m afraid of him too, just like I’m afraid of a lotta the other killers here, but I’ll never let my fear keep me from saving my friends.”

He received a few endearing and beaming smiles from Ace and Claudette, his words apparently lifting their spirits. Dwight too was no longer shaking as violently nor did his cries mimic that of some dying animal.

“You guys are my family,” he confessed after a minute, “and family protects each other. We’re all here for each other, no matter what. I know you’re scared but you can’t let Freddy use that against you.”

“I have to be strong,” Dwight mumbled.

Quentin nodded cheerily and replied, “Yeah, exactly.”

The leader stepped back and wiped at the underside of his eyes, his glasses briefly going askew before falling back into place. “I’ve heard you say that a lot.”

“I have?” Quentin questioned, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. He never realized he had said those words aloud before.

Dwight looked as though he wished to speak but several grunting noises interrupted their little heart-to-heart. Passing through the threshold that was the treeline came an exhausted and blood-drenched Bill carrying a nearly unconscious David with an uninjured Nea supporting the elder along the way.

Everyone instantly sprinted to their aid, he and Ace managing to maneuver the scrapper to the ground just as Bill collapsed in a heap.

“Bill!” he exclaimed with fear.

Ace bended down to check the veteran, his inspection yielding good results if the relieved smile and thumbs up that followed were anything to go by. “He’s alright, he’s just unconscious.”

“Over exerted ‘imself,” the scrapper commented in a raspy voice. “Needs ‘elp though.”

Leaving Claudette, Ace and Dwight to tend to the elder, Quentin approached David and kneeled by the other male’s side. The man looked just as horrible now as he did during their first encounter. Actually, this seemed far worse. Soft scrapes on dirt drew nearer and then Nea came to crouch down on the brute’s other side.

“Idiot!” the tag artist scolded David in exasperation, hand whipping out to smack the man. “I told you to run! You know we can’t fight them off!”

“You could’ve crawled out when I was kickin’ ‘is arse.”

“I passed out right after I told you to leave, dumbass. B-Bled out I guess,” she added almost silently. “And Bill never leaves anyone behind.”

“Ya, I owe ‘im for ‘at,” David muttered quietly before hardening his gaze again. “And I meant leavin’ beforehand!”

“We _couldn’t_ leave!” Nea snapped, a couple of fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. Quentin reached out to briefly tangle his hand with hers, for comfort mostly but also for encouragement. She was appreciative of the gesture, squeezing his hand back in earnest before saying, “Fucking prick kept dragging us back into the realm.”

“Well at least I got a...” David trailed off, the man appearing to be dozing off. Quentin hid the frown forming on his face and simply patted the scrapper on the shoulder, the man fluttering his eyelids uselessly in a wasted effort to stay awake.

“J-Just rest okay,” he urged the battered and sliced up male. He tried to remove the tiny whimper in his voice, but thankfully both David and Nea seemed too distracted to acknowledge it.

Quentin lingered for a while longer, watching the delicate rise and fall of David’s chest with subtle interest. Nea took to redressing the scrapper’s wounds, some of which were quite gruesome—the slash running across the other’s eye was fine example. Bill too had a horrendous amount of deep, painful-looking slashes marring his body. He could vividly imagine what they all must have experienced, and he avoided asking Nea for further details. It did not matter anyways.

This was unacceptable. Trials were brutal enough as they were without Freddy adding his own personal touch into the mix. Consequences be damned! He had to do something, had to dissuade the bastard from butchering his friends. A tiny wisp of a thought flitted through his mind, warning him of his recklessness, yet he ignored it. He was done sitting on the sidelines and simply watching the action unfold in the opposition’s favour.

Leaving the wounded to be properly cared for, Quentin sneakily slunk away into the forest. He steered clear of marked paths and put as much distance as he could manage between him and the campfire. He did not wish to be awoken prematurely if things went south. Failure was not an option, nor did he ponder the repercussions of his actions. Freddy was _not_ getting away with this!

Happening upon a suitable tree trunk to utilize, Quentin curled up at the base of the mighty plant and gently shut his heavy eyelids. His mind happily drifted away while his tired limbs became boneless.

Mere seconds passed and the sudden stifling temperature and disgusting smell were immediately recognized. It was amazing how little effort it took to get here. Perhaps he had been expected. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the familiar landscape of the boiler room. Here we go.

“Hello angelfish,” Freddy suddenly greeted from behind, his tone oddly endearing, “did you miss me?”

Eyes slanting with burning hatred, Quentin whirled around and struck the dream demon across the face with a tightly clenched fist.

“Stay away from my friends!” he roared at the smirking man.

“Well I tried being patience, indulging your _disobedience_ , but this approach seemed to catch your attention. Though I wouldn’t be opposed to playing with the others,” the monster added, tongue snaking out to run leisurely over burned lips. “Their screams, their eyes getting nice and big as fear sets in, the moment they realize just h—”

“Enough! You _sick_ fucking bastard,” he seethed. “You... you have my attention okay? So just, just leave them alone.”

“Relax. Your little friends are,” Freddy started while scissoring his blades together with his usual overly dramatic flourish, “entertaining, cute even... but they’re not you. They’re not my number one in this world.”

The brief brush of a gentle palm against his cheek was swiftly batted away. Fucker needed to keep his hands and his disgusting comments to himself. Maybe choke on them for good measure.

“It’s been so long,” Freddy continued on unperturbed. “Perhaps we should play a game. A nice, _long_ game.”

Quentin shook his head and firmly uttered, “Fuck your games.”

“Or maybe you need another punishment. Hmm, yes,” Freddy hummed, mulling over the word ‘punishment’ as if he were savouring a fine wine. “That could be nice too.”

Then the man swiftly lunged forward, claws extended and ready to pierce into tender meat. Quentin narrowly dodged the swing and rolled to the side to grab a rusty pipe off the floor. Ready and armed, he raised his weapon and prepared to defend himself. Assuming Freddy  _played_  fair of course, but at least he was not entirely defenceless. You’re screwed, his mind declared to which he internally cursed at.

“Well,” Freddy began to say, his signature fedora twisting and contesting on his scalp until it possessed the texture of paper, “maybe a quick game of pirates first. For old times’ sake.”

Pirates? Freddy had to be joking. Tapping his head, the material of his beanie crinkled under his touch. A paper beanie? Big colossal joke, right? This was a serious issue, not some godforsaken playground game.

Quentin had a single second to bat the infernal paper hat off of his head before Freddy sprung into action once more. He took a step back to reinforce his stance and blocked the incoming blow, the metallic clank echoing loudly throughout the room. More strikes were delivered from both sides, each opponent taking some damage but nothing too crippling.

Begrudgingly, he indulged the dream demon with his childish game for the time being while he formulated a plan. He had to think of some way to keep Freddy distracted, keep the man’s attention solely on him and not his friends. The most logical answer was to offer himself up to Freddy, kind of like what he was doing now. Sleeping on a regular basis and keeping the bastard busy. It was a cringy, unappealing thought for that meant suffering through more bullshit, torture, and potentially rape. Maybe he could propose a deal of some sorts. Something with a little leverage or—No, no, that was not going to work. Freddy would not honour such a deal let alone submit to one, not unless he was being sarcastic about it. What else was there?

“You’re such a loser,” Freddy declared though his tone did not match his normal, guttural voice—too high-pitched.

Only when he refocused on his attacker did he notice Feng Min standing before him, cocky grin and all with the addition of a knifed glove on her right hand and still the ridiculous paper fedora adorning her head. Feng lunged again to which he hardly blocked, the index finger blade slightly nicking his cheek.

“Stop th—” he abruptly paused as he gazed into cold, obsidian eyes.

“You’re useless,” Jake uttered, twisted smile contorting his lips and orbs hardening with every word spoken while his gloved hand weighed down heavily on Quentin's guard. “You were never meant to survive.”

The dream demon transformed again, blood surrounding his whole form—like being enveloped in a winding, blood-red river—before the liquid dissipated to reveal a grinning Ace. “You ran outta luck a long time ago kid. Not that it’d do you any good.”

Quentin growled, his body stiffening in sheer fury before pushed back and delivered another, more vicious strike.

“Shut up!” he shouted, face boiling hot. “Shut your fucking m—”

“Aww, what’s the matter cutie?” Nea questioned with a teasing tone of voice. “Can’t handle the truth.”

Screaming in frustration, Quentin charged forward and administered strike after strike to the shifter, his uncoordinated blows effortlessly blocked. “Fuck off!”

Nea grabbed his rusty weapon but made no move to wrench it from his grip. To his displeasure, the man transformed yet again and then Dwight was standing before him, completely bloodied and missing a few fingers to boot. “How can you save us when you can’t even save yourself?”

“I ca—”

“You got your friends killed, didn’t you?” Dwight saucily inquired, the male quickly morphing into Laurie. The babysitter kicked him backwards and eyed her blood-soaked knifes with keen interest, sickening smirk never faltering once. “I bet they hate now. I know we do.”

His friends did not despise him. Did they? “No,” he mumbled in disbelief, his neck lowering to stare sadly at the floor, “you… you’re wrong. P-Please, just st—”

“I bet Nancy hates you more.” Quentin looked upon his nemesis to discover Meg grinning wickedly at his suffering, hands placed on her slender hips and baby blue eyes practically aglow.

“That’s a lie!” he strongly contested. “S-She doesn't hate me. We saved each other!”

“No son,” Meg stated only to swiftly transform into Bill, the veteran eyeing him as if he were an unworthy adversary. “She saved you, and you _ruined_ her.”

“No, I-I didn’t. Y-You did!” Quentin screeched while thrusting his pipe outward. “You ruined all of—”

“It’s such a shame,” Claudette pouted sarcastically. “Now she’ll never be the same precious little girl again.”

“Shut up,” he muttered spitefully under his breath and through gritted teeth, his free hand tangling into his sweat-slicked curls mercilessly. This mental mockery had stoked a rather dangerous fire within him.

“Shame ya neva got ta shag ‘er either… or little Jesse,” David remarked with a flirtatious and knowing wink, the brute covered from head-to-toe in lacerations. “‘Cause they were both incredibly t—”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ”

Another long swipe of claws was aimed at his midsection. Quentin maneuvered his weapon lower, intent to swipe under David’s guard and hit the bastard square in the jaw. However, what he held now was not a rusted metal pipe but an empty paper towel roll. David slashed directly through his flimsy defenses, the cardboard slicing cleanly in two and the broken piece skidding pitifully across the floor. Next, the man drove his foot into his unprotected stomach, the powerful blow knocking him flat on his back with a winded grunt.

“ _Bastard_ ,” Quentin spat while wincing in pain.

“Aww, don’t be a sore loser Quen,” the man chided, morphing back into his normal burned self and then moved down to straddle his thighs. A single, thin knife flicked up and down at his prone form mockingly. “I know you had fun and with your friends too. That’s all that matters.”

No, no, no. Not this horrible position again. “Get off!”

“But now, as the victor, I believe I should properly claim my _plunder_ ,” the man stated while exposing Quentin’s slightly sweat-slicked chest the boiler room air. “Mark it as my own.”

“M-Mark?” He absolutely did _not_ like the sound of that.

Freddy hummed in the affirmative, his fond expression intensifying as he stroked the squirming flesh presented to him.

“Let’s see if you can guess.”

A hot, burning sensation radiated from the man’s finger, the heated digit lazily dragging along his skin. Quentin however immediately threw his head back, back arching and skull knocking against the grimy floor as he howled in agony. Fucking hell, it hurt! The pain was so excruciating, the sensation bogging down his brain and preventing any other thoughts from manifesting.

“Hmm,” the man hummed thoughtfully aloud, “maybe cursive would look prettier. What d’you think?”

Cursive? Oh god, the bastard was burning a name into him. His name: his foul, devilish name. Just like Freddy had said he would during the trial at the swamp. Well fuck that!

“I...” he paused to lick his dry lips and shift his hands a bit. “I think I wanna watch you suffer instead!”

He extended his arms upward while his palms coiled around the bastard’s neck in a vice. Enduring this abuse for a second time was not going to happen willingly.

“—on, please! Wake up Quentin!”

Quentin gasped, a rush of cold, woodsy-smelling oxygen flooding his insides. Freddy was still on top of him, but he was awake now. He was awake! And in a trial from the looks of it. Shit! Why? Why did things like this always happen?

“Hrah!” A shout rang out followed by the heavy clanking from what looked like a toolbox slamming into the back of Freddy’s head.

The dream demon yelped indignantly, moving away to clutch at his sore head.

“Quentin?” Claudette whispered in relief, her stance momentarily frozen holding her large toolbox over her head with her glasses slightly askew and misty eyes somehow shining in the non-existent lighting. “Thank goodn—”

“You  _bitch!_ ” Freddy venomously boomed, the man’s expression looking positively lethal.

Claudette, with a faint tremble, rushed towards the barely recovered killer and smashed her toolbox over his head once more. And then a second time, and then a third, each consecutive hit making a sickening crunch and leaving the botanist more winded from exertion. After the fourth crack, the dream demon finally fell though the botanist displayed no signs of relenting. As joyous and thrilling of a sight as it was to witness, Quentin knew Freddy was going to retaliate any minute now.

He rose to his feet only to practically keel over instantaneously. Why did his leg hurt so much? Peering down, he noticed a red stained screwdriver buried in his lower thigh. That explained how Claudette was able to wake him up although, not that he was unappreciative or anything, why had she stuck it in his leg of all places? And then there was the burns on his chest, the molted skin stinging with every single jarring movement. Yet he pressed on regardless, pulling the tool from his thigh and pushing past the pain to hobble towards Claudette and Freddy.

To his absolute horror, he observed as Freddy caught the dented toolbox mid-air, wrenching it from the botanist’s grip and heaving it to the side. Claudette made to retreat, but the dream demon quickly switched their respective positions—rolling the woman underneath him—and plunged his gleaming claws into her face.

“NO!” Quentin yelled in despair. He attempted to pick up the pace but ended up awkwardly tripping and falling forward. “No,” he quietly whined, his forehead sinking into the dirt as the sound of wet squelches and metal invaded his ears. Not Claudette. Not again, not another friend.

“C’mere,” Freddy hissed while tangling his slick fingers into Quentin’s brunette curls and tugging. He yelped from having his roots almost yanked out of his skull as he was essentially dragged over to the fallen botanist.

“See this?” the dream demon whispered harshly, the man throwing him to the ground beside Claudette. When he refused to look upon his friend, Freddy roughly wrenched his chin in her direction. “Do you see this Quen? Answer me!”

“Fuck you,” Quentin quietly spat.

Obviously displeased with his response, Freddy forced his captured head closer such that his nose was mere inches away from Claudette’s. There was still so much blood gushing from her slack mouth. Her coffee-coloured orbs lost among four deep puncture wounds—probably gouged straight from her skull.

Quentin gagged, his bottom lip quivering in sadness and acidic bile threatened to erupt from his throat. “I’m s-sorry,” he brokenly mumbled to the girl. “I’m s—”

Fingers burying into his locks and tucking him upwards cut off his apologies, the culprit leaning down to whisper directly into his ear.

“Take a good look boy,” Freddy whispered with rage, the man’s lips tickling his ear lobe. “This is all because of you.”

Quentin snarled viciously, attempting to struggle free but to no avail. It was not his fault! He did not want to be awoken in the first place. Yet if he had not gone off to confront Freddy, then Claudette would have lived. And who knew how long she had spent trying to rouse him, her efforts no doubt keeping her from helping the others escape. God, what had he done?!

“Now...” Freddy uttered while kicking Quentin onto his back, the man sporting no blunt-forced trauma or any injuries whatsoever. It was so unfair how quickly the killers healed in this place. That toolbox should have least made a sizeable dent in the bastard’s rotten skull. “Where were w—”

A dull thud of some sort pierced the air surrounding the pair and the dream demon stopped within the same moment, his posture going unusually stiff and his eyes widening to extreme lengths. Freddy blinked, his lewd expression morphing into one of shock as the man fell forward and landed right on top of Quentin.

Unsure of what new trick this was, he hastily squirmed beneath the crushing weight pinning him to the grass-covered ground. All struggles ceased however when a foreign hand invaded his vision to grasp at the handle of a kitchen knife and rip it free from the back of Freddy’s mangled head.

Ignoring the suffocating weight on top of him momentarily, his neck cranked upwards ever so slowly where his orbs located a hulking figure in a white, latex mask standing where the dream demon once stood. M-Myers? Oh god, that was right. This was a trial and The Shape was probably not happy about losing his precious kills. Shit, shit, shit!

A surge of anxiety and fear gave him the necessary willpower to shimmy out from underneath Freddy and speedily hobble towards the imposing coal tower in the centre of the realm. Once inside, he glanced behind him to discover that Myers had not followed him. Or perhaps the killer did but the man was stalking him from a vantage point.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had a debilitating injury which required medical attention, but there had been no signs of his other teammates thus far. Perhaps they were working on generators elsewhere, being their normal productive selves. He shed a tear at the thought of them having already met their demise.

All of this was too much to handle. He needed a moment to catch his breath and to think without his headache worsening. Staggering over to a locker, Quentin noiselessly opened the double doors and maneuvered himself inside. Standing in one of these things gave him terrible flashbacks but he forced himself to remain calm.

Claudette had been butchered right before his eyes and, similar with Dwight, he had been powerless to stop it. And what of Freddy? Was the sick fuck finally dead? He desperately wanted to believe it were true, prayed that the evil plaguing his dreams and eviscerating his friends was eradicated for good. But if the Entity had the power to revive him and the other survivors here, then so too could the cruel god revive Freddy.

Immediately Quentin began to sob, his hands extending upward to cover his mouth in an attempt to silence his wailing cries.

This was all his fault. He never should have fallen asleep. He knew his efforts were pointless, he knew nothing short of a miracle would change the dream demon’s warpath. Yet he tried. He had to try if not for the sake of his friends but for the sake of his sanity.

Hastily, he wished he had died back in the real world. Then perhaps none of this would have happened. Quentin would have been free but then so too would Freddy. The nightmare would have carried on without him.

In a mere instant, the doors before him whooshed open and then Quentin was forcibly grabbed from his hiding place and hoisted over Michael’s broad shoulder. So much for trying to remain hidden. He chose not to struggle and simply went slack in the other male’s grip as Myers carted him to the nearest hook. He was tired of these ridiculous games and he knew his fatigue would only hinder what teammates remained alive. In a way, the hook would act as his salvation even though death was not an escape.

What was that noise? Was it—yes, it was the hatch. So his friends truly had perished and he was the sole survivor now, the sorrowful truth bringing on a new wave of silent tears.

Myers unceremoniously dropped him on his sensitive stomach beside the open trap door, the wispy fog beckoning him to jump inside.

What was going on? He had not the foggiest clue as to why the killer was offering him the chance to escape. They never did this, as far as he knew, and especially not someone like Myers. Maybe it was a trap, luring him into a false sense of security before ripping it right out from underneath him? Although, according to the others, The Huntress had spared him and Jake a while back too. Were the killers suddenly becoming merciful?

Quentin, however, was not having any of that—whether it be a trick or no—and turned to face The Shape. “K-Kill me,” he pleaded.

He desired nothing greater than for the pain to just fucking stop, even for a single moment. He wished to die and, at this point, he did not care how macabre said death was.

Michael merely stood by, bloodied mask randomly tilting to the side. What the hell? Did the killer not understand his demand? Why was the man hesitating? He was handing out a free kill here!

“ _Kill me_ ,” he repeated with emphasis. “Throw me on a hook, stab me, snap my neck. I don’t care... just fucking _kill me!_ ”

A noiseless, tense minute passed and neither male budged. Quentin was beginning to believe the man was simply toying with him. Then Myers moved to tower over him, bent down to his level, and picked him up by both of his biceps. Finally! Instead of being thrown over a shoulder or stabbed repeatedly in the torso, the man pivoted on two feet and held him at eye level. Quentin stared into the slits of the killer's mask with interest wondering whom specifically resided behind it. Giving him one last head tilt, Myers released his suspended form so that he fell straight into the open hatch.


	24. Hysterics Of All Kinds

“Dammit,” David swore irritably when the stupid machine exploded in his face for the third time.

He simply could not choose the correct wires to connect this trial. His teammates were likely going to harass him relentlessly about it afterwards too. Whatever. Damn thing was almost done anyways. Sort of.

So long as the killer did not pop in unannounced to ruin all of his hard work. Speaking of the killer, he idly wondered which arsehole they were facing this time around. Despite his miscalculations, no one had showed up to investigate the scene—whether that be friend or foe. In fact, besides the noises produced by the generator, it was far too quiet here altogether. No agonizing screams, no random footsteps passing by, no crows cawing, no heavy and winded breathing. Nothing. It was as if the realm had manifested in a barren region of outer space, the empty area devoid of all noise and all life.

“AH!” a shrill feminine screech rang out over yonder. Spoke too soon.

The damsel in distress, however, was close by the sounds of it. Might as well go for the save since he clearly cannot repair generators properly.

Giving the partially repaired generator an indignant glare in parting, David proceeded through the mass of trees towards the direction of the scream. And boy was there a surplus of trees this time. He knew this realm—the one which usually had the coal tower in the centre—to be abundant in plant life, but this was a little overkill. Perhaps the Entity was secretly a tree hugger on top of being an evil farmer. To top it all off, it was rather dark too, the landscape shrouded in an abnormally thick blanket of black. Normally trials offered a touch of light from some source: a lantern, a burning barrel, or even actual lights. But not this.

Maybe he was not in the realm he thought he was.

Mere moments after pondering this, a bright light shone through from the northwest. He wanted to ignore it, but seeking out the mysterious light was preferable to wandering around in the dark. His friends might even be hovering around the light too—possibly a desperate excuse on his part but he was not about to dispute it.

Deviating towards the glowing source, David squinted to make out a blurry figure moving back and forth in front of the light. The killer, or had his female friend been secured already? Deciding to be cautious, he crouched down and slinked behind an oversized tree trunk. Peering around the mighty tree, his eyes widened to an impossible degree as his mouth went slack jawed.

Before his eyes, surrounding a campfire identical to their own, were the bodies of his friends.

“NO!” he shouted without thinking, running out from his hiding place and rushing to their aid.

How was this even possible? They were all here, all lying dead before his feet. But this was a trial, right? No, no, no, no. This was not happening. This could not be happening. They… they would revive. Just like they always did. This was just some cruel trick the Entity concocted. It had to be. His friends could not be… no, maybe they were not all dead. Someone had to be left alive.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he thoroughly checked each and every friend only to find no pulse, no signs of lingering life whatsoever. All of their injuries were still fresh and oozing too, precious blood continuing to sluggishly trickle out from them even though no life remained. Nothing but still faces one saw in a photograph and glassy, hollow orbs which bored into the very depths of his soul.

David felt incredibly ill, his lungs almost seizing and his gut twisting unbearably as their lifeless eyes practically begged him for answers. Did you not hear us calling out for help? Why were you not here for us? Why did you not save us? Why did you let us die? Did you not care about us at all?

He hardened his heart and held back his cries of anguish to the best of his abilities, their questioning gazes piercing his insides like a fire iron dipped in putrid acid. However, when he turned over the last body to inspect, his briefly fortified resolve shattered instantly into billions of tiny shards.

Quentin appeared worse off than everyone else if it were possible. The boy had similar bruises and broken bones to the others yet the extent of his cuts was the real eyecatcher. Multiple slashes across the face, gouges to the throat, numerous gashes on the arms and legs, and probably several more hidden elsewhere.

David was too afraid to look anywhere else, too afraid to look at any more disturbing gore. Instead he dragged the limp body closer and cradled Quentin’s head in his arms, flinching at the feel of the boy’s blood touching his flesh. His fingers carded tightly into the teen’s thick brunette locks as he softly wept, his tears splashing dully against Quentin’s lacerated cheek.

The boy did not deserve this. None of his friends deserved this. Not Nea, or Ace, or Feng, or Dwight.  _None of them!_  So why? Why did it happen? Why did the Entity let it happen?  _Why?!_

But there was still hope. There had to be!

The Entity would resurrect them, and they would carry on as they usually did. A few smiles and laughs, a hug or a tussle when things got hectic, and maybe several fun games in between.

He could picture it now. Ace and Feng would argue over which card game would be superior. Nea would teasingly tickle Meg under the armpits, just to get a rise out of the runner, before the two of them would settle down cozily by the fire. Dwight would blush happily when Claudette snuggled beside him, the two sighing half-heartedly at the playful banter going on all around them—almost like doting parents. Jake and Laurie would sit close, smiling fondly at each other as they conversed, while occasionally offering the rest of the group a smile or two. Bill would be shaking his head at the lot of them, lazy grin tugging at his lips while he puffed miniature rings of smoke. And David and Quentin would chat like usual about miscellaneous things, nothing too fancy and nothing too depressing but just random topics to pass the time. Then Quentin would lightly shove at his shoulder while laughing at one of his embarrassing stories, those tired, yet gorgeous, cesious-coloured eyes twinkling in the light of the fire.

Anything but  _this!_

“He’s beautiful like this… isn’t he?” a gravelly voice commented from behind, the source casting a shadow over him and the butchered teenager.

It was him. It was that fucking bastard again! That sadistic fuck had murdered his friends!

Gently laying Quentin down, David allowed his temper to engulf in mind. His bodily shakes of sorrow quickly transformed into shakes of unbridled rage, his muscles eagerly seeking a grueling workout through punching.

Blinded by his sheer anger, David shot up and struck Krueger across the face. Or he would have if something had not caught his arm. What the fuck?

He sent a crazed look over his shoulder, orbs blazing like dangerous balls of fire. Whom he discovered was none other than The Doctor, the man holding his forearm in a vice while apparently delighting in his misery. The electricity-wielding killer cackled, grip tightening temporarily before the man swung, the spiked poled catching him in the side of the head and forcing him harshly onto his side. David swiftly rolled on all fours but refrained from standing as any attempts to do so brought on powerful waves of nausea. His skull throbbed painfully while dizzying spots flitted about in his field of vision, the black dots expanding and contracting seemingly with a life of their own.

How? How could there be two killers? What the h—

A large foot connecting with his jaw interrupted his bleary thought process, the solid ground biting into his back just as deeply as the bright burst of pain now emanating from his mouth.

With half-lidded eyes and teeth gritted in frustration, David eyed his attackers menacingly. Except, instead of sternly glowering at two killers, his eyes landed on three killers. The Nightmare, The Doctor, and The Trapper now towered above him, each male sporting the biggest grins possible.

What was going on?

Then more killers invaded his vision: The Huntress, The Cannibal, The Nurse, The Wraith, The Shape, The Hag, The Hillbilly. They were all here, each killer surrounding his prone form with similar degrees of excitement etched on their faces—or from the ones he was able to see.

“Are you ready to join the rest of your classmates David?” Krueger asked sweetly. “They’re waiting for you.”

Never let it be said that he was not stubborn. Snarling heatedly, David threw a fierce scowl at The Nightmare and slurred out, “Piss off y’bloody wanker. Why don’cha try dyin’ for a change?”

“Hmm,” The Nightmare pondered this for a moment with evident sarcasm, fingers rubbing at the underside of his chin sensually to emphasize the look. “I don’t think so.”

With that, the killers were on him, each attacking him in their unique way. Every vicious hit, every violent strike, brought with it an immense amount of agony. David savagely bit into his bottom lip to stifle his cries as his willpower waned and his surroundings faded from awareness. Flesh was bruised and torn, limbs were ripped carelessly from of their respective sockets, and bones were easily snapped in two. His consciousness wavered, like a wave gradually losing momentum, though it had yet to haul him into the tranquility of deathly slumber. Currently, while he partly desired the frigid caress of death, he would first defy his adversaries, deny them the satisfaction of his demise.

Just as he plastered on a flimsy shadow of a grin, the killers stopped.

There was a lull in the assault, enough for David to gather the faintest bit of his bearings before promptly turning to the side to vomit blood. Numerous laughs rang out as he spewed a literal torrent of thick, crimson liquid. He had a mind to retaliate, wished there to be some way of exacting justice on his attackers, yet he was unable to. His body was entirely numb now and even cranking his neck to the side was too tiring of a chore.

This was it. He was going to die.

“You see David,” Krueger casually uttered while kneeling down beside him.

The killer teasingly walked his claws down his mutilated torso for a time, blades tapping pointedly in their wake. David tried to squirm, to lift his hand to shove those vile metallic tips away, but his body constantly denied him. When those knifes reached his stomach, they plunged in and drove a pained, bloody gurgle from his abused throat. The blades stirred around in his gut, severing muscle and scraping at his innards.

“No matter how strong your  _insides_  are,” Krueger emphasized by slowly pulling his intestines out inch by inch, the sight only making him cringe horribly. How was he still conscious, or alive for that matter? “No matter how hard you fight against us.” The Nightmare lifted a chunk of his intestine to his smirking mouth and ominously whispered, “You’ll never save them.”

And then Krueger was brutally yanking his innards clean from his lower abdomen, the man sadistically eyeing the squishy guts and giving them an appreciative squeeze before dangling them in front of his face—the killer likely gloating over his feat, as if the man had secured the ultimate prized trophy to be won.

“But please, by all means,” The Nightmare insisted while handing off the intestines to The Trapper, and then gesturing to the other killers still crowded around him. “Fight. We’ll be happy to remind you of your place. Every. Single. Time.”

Laughter and the fluttering of claws ensued, the blades practically singing as they glided rhythmically together.

“ _GAH!_ ” David exclaimed abruptly, his breathing painstakingly rapid and burning his esophagus to no end.

The campfire immediately came into view followed by the lack of blood and bodies surrounding it. Instead, he spied Meg, Feng, Ace, and Dwight arguing in hushed tones, though their voices gained volume occasionally.

Jake and Laurie were now present as well, the both of them leisurely tending to a still unconscious Bill—removing his filthy bandages and inspecting the elder from the looks of it—while seemingly conversing quietly amongst themselves.

A soft moan directed his attention south to discover a sleeping Nea draped over top of him. The tag artist was curled snuggly around his uninjured mid-section, her face nuzzling into his stomach as her back rose and fell gently. It was a calming sight especially after the horrendous mental torture he had endured.

Thank fuck! It had all been just a dream. No, a nightmare. A terrible fucking nightmare.

Humming curiously, he realized their little campground was lacking a few members—namely Claudette and Quentin. Was there a trial? David did not even know how long he had been asleep but he supposed the possibility was not outrageous. Though perhaps the two of them were culling plants in the vicinity. Their medical supplies were probably quite poor after these recent trials.

“David,” Nea sleepily slurred at him. “Wha...”

Oh shite. Had he woken her up by mistake?

“M’sorry lass,” he whispered in apology. “I didn’t mean ta wa—”

“S’okay stud,” the tag artist reassured while yawning. “I got  _plenty_  of beauty rest.”

“Looks that way,” David responded with a smirk, “though any particular reason for choosin’ me ta lie on?”

“‘Cause you’re really comfy,” she sighed out rather cutely, “and ‘cause Meg wasn’t back yet.”

The beanie-clad woman rose elegantly to her feet, her movements resembling that of a cat leisurely stretching its limbs.

“Talk to Quentin,” Nea suggested with a wink, “and maybe he’ll be the one lying on you.”

David flushed at the advice, his eyes following the tag artist as she strolled off to reunite with her girlfriend. A frown tugged at his lips a moment later before he muttered an inaudible, “Maybe.”

Standing up and stretching his stiff muscles, or rather cracking them, David then started removing the bandages still covering his body. The smell alone had his nose wrinkling in revulsion and he vaguely wondered how comfortable Nea had been inhaling the damp, irony, fungus-like scent while sleeping on him. Was she nose blind? Then again, he had not noticed the smell either until he focused on it. At this point, it was probably safe to say that they were all used to the stench of blood, mold, and nearly every other foul scent imaginable.

Dropping the disgusting bindings in the fire, he bumped into Laurie doing similar with Bill’s sullied bandages.

“‘as he woken up yet?” David questioned while nodding towards the unconscious veteran.

“Not yet,” Laurie calmly replied, “but he will.”

“‘at’s a relief. He w—Wha’re you holdin’?”

“Oh this?” the babysitter said and held up the rectangular shape in her other hand. “It’s my old chemistry textbook.”

David quirked a curious eyebrow and eyed the thing suspiciously. “Your book?”

Laurie nodded enthusiastically, her fingers flipping through the slightly discoloured pages for a short second. “Feng and Meg found it along with a bunch of other stuff in the woods. Of all the things that could be found here, I never thought I’d see this again.”

“Guess it’s too much ta ask if the lasses found an exit?”

The babysitter offered a humorous chuckle and answered with, “‘fraid not.”

Elevated shouts diverted their attention to the others still bickering away nearby.

“Do I wanna know wha’ ‘at’s ‘bout?”

“Actually, I think you should join them,” Laurie encouraged. “Your opinion might help.”

“‘elp wha’ exactly?”

The woman had already swivelled around to return to Jake and Bill but not before saying over her shoulder, “Go see for yourself.”

How cryptic. Nevertheless, he started walking over to the larger group to find out what all the spirited commotion was about.

“You can’t just do that!” Meg argued.

“He was scared sweetheart,” Ace shot back.

Dwight fidgeted on the spot, his hands twitching in front of him. “I-I didn’t mean t—”

“Maybe you ‘didn’t mean to’ do it,” Feng interjected, though surprisingly more serenely. David assumed the gamer was not as bothered by whatever this was—not as greatly as Meg at least. “But y—”

“Guys, please,” Laurie spoke up. “Don’t d—”

“For fuck’s sake, look at what happened to David,” the runner stressed with throwing a stiff arm in his direction, “and to Bill. Geez, the guy looks like he got f—”

He hated to even ask at this point, but his curiosity truly was an insatiable devil. “Wha’s everyone on ‘bout?”

“They’re talking about Dwight killing himself and leaving us to fend for ourselves,” Nea helpfully explained. “And babe, I think you’re overreacting. You know what happened to him,” the tag artist gestured to Dwight as she leaned into her girlfriend’s side, “and you know h—”

“I don’t care!” Meg snapped. “You guys were actually _tortured_ , and he’d been there then maybe—”

“He made a choice to save himself, to spare himself from further pain,” Jake commented from his place beside Bill, the saboteur moving to stand in front of Meg and glaring at her coldly. “I used to do the very same thing when we all first arrived, the four of us.”

Clearly Jake was referring to himself, Claudette, Meg, and Dwight. From what he had been told, Jake had been the odd ball out amongst the quartet, saving his own skin and allowing the others to be sacrificed left and right. Now, however, the man had changed, becoming a person worth calling a trusted mate and ally.

“But I ensured my own survival for worse reasons,” the saboteur continued calmly, “and condemning me for it in the past was justifiable. I won’t argue otherwise… but I  _won’t_  allow you condemn Dwight for the same.”

Powerful words, and ones which David wholeheartedly agreed with. Although, if looks were capable of killing, they would all be looking at a double homicide. The cool anger radiating off of Jake mixed uneasily with Meg’s boiling rage, the contrasting tension zapping all the oxygen from the cool air. Thankfully Laurie and Nea stepped in to create some distance between the two figures locked in a standoff, both ladies tugging their love interests back a bit.

“Condemn who?” Claudette inquired as she sauntered into the clearing.

Dwight immediately lit up at the sight of the botanist, the leader darting to the woman to hold her in a tender embrace.

Was it just him or did her smile seem forced? And if Claudette was here then where was Quentin?

“Where’s Quentin?” he asked the botanist, his voice coming out a touch anxious.

Claudette maneuvered her face out of the crevice of Dwight’s neck to utter, “He’s still in the trial.”

“He’s in th—Are you serious?” Ace uttered in shock. “Where was he? I never saw him the entire time.”

“He was s—”

“Excuse me!” Meg all but shrieked, effectively silencing the botanist’s reply. “We’re not changing the subject just like that! Dwight needs t—”

“Shut it Meg!” David curtly yelled, momentarily re-immersing himself in their previous conversation in hopes of putting an end to it once and for all. Fucking hell! This was getting tiresome.

The runner babbled angrily but was quickly subdued by Nea before anything else transpired, though the tag artist appeared not to have appreciated his comment either. Hopefully his next few words would fix that.

“Imma mite miffed atcha for givin’ up, especially when I was  _right ‘ere_ ,” David voiced pointedly to a fearful-looking Dwight before letting out a prolonged sigh. “But I get it.”

Dwight slightly smiled in relief, as did Claudette and Ace, though Meg looked ready to burst while Feng appeared mildly displeased.

“‘at bein’ said,” David piped up and eyed the leader critically, “go a pair of fuckin’ balls.”

“David!” Claudette scandalously exclaimed.

“M’sorry ‘bout wha’ ‘appened to ya mate, I really am, but ya can’t let ‘im—”

“I have to be strong,” Dwight interjected quite strongly, his sudden change in behaviour shocking the daylights out of everyone. “I know… and I will.”

David gave the man an approving nod, big grin adorning his face as he replied, “Glad ta ‘ear. Now c’mere you!”

He wrapped Dwight in a headlock and proceeded to ruffle the man’s hair affectionately, the leader half-heartedly struggling against his ministrations. Little laughs from Dwight and endearing coos from the rest of the gang were a beautiful accompaniment to the playful roughhousing.

Moments like this were what they fought to have; this right here.

“Boys,” Feng whispered quietly with a shake of her head, though her joyful tone lacked any heat.

David allowed the leader to break free after a minute, the man vainly attempting to fix his staticky, and now spiky, hair. The ginger approached Dwight a second later, the female sizing up the other with an unreadable gaze and a partial pout.

Dwight cleared his throat while smoothing his hands over his wrinkled shirt, and then nervously asked, “A-Are we, good?”

Meg blew an extended puff of air out of one corner of her mouth before murmuring, “Yeah dummy.” The ginger plucked the leader’s crooked glasses from his face to wipe them with her shirt before pushing them awkwardly back on his nose. “I guess we’re good. For now. Just… just don’t do that again.”

“I second that,” Feng speedily added.

Dwight nodded at both women and firmly uttered, “I won’t.”

The runner then pulled Dwight into a gentle embrace. Claudette squeaked in under Meg’s arm to join in on the hug, and Jake wrapped his arms around Dwight’s and Meg’s shoulders after being impatiently shoved towards the trio by Laurie.

The original four together. It was almost poetic but nonetheless charming in the sappiest way possible, the heartfelt display bringing a tear to his eye.

Leaves rustling and slightly winded breaths had David peering around the tender hug to witness Quentin staggering into the campground looking less than fine.

“Oh Christ,” he mumbled and dashed around the others to help the boy. “Wha’ ‘appened ta y—”

The teenager brushed away his hands and made a beeline for the botanist. Upon realizing the boy’s presence, Claudette instantly broke away from the others to share a tight hug with Quentin.

“M’sorry,” the teen sobbed into the botanist’s neck, “I’m sorry Claud.”

Claudette stroked his shaky back comfortingly and said, “It’s o—”

“No,” the teen expressed in a horrified tone while pulling away to tearfully eye the young woman. “It’s not okay. Don’t tell me it’s okay...”

“Shh,” the botanist shushed gently. “C’mere honey.”

“Wha’ ‘appened?” he reiterated. David was slightly annoyed at being ignored though obviously something unpleasant had occurred for the insomniac to act in such a manner.

Quentin sniffled in the fabric of Claudette’s clothes, the noise essentially non-existent before hatefully uttering, “Freddy.”

“Oh no, not a—”

“That guy never learns d—”

“Unbelievab—”

“That sick fucking ass—”

“Did ‘at bastard touch you?” David cut in sharply to drown out the other remarks. “I’ll fuckin’ k—”

“I fell asleep,” the boy instantly started to explain, “Freddy roughed me up a bit, Claudette woke me up, b-but...”

“But?” Feng inquired, the Asian practically balancing on the balls of her feet in worry.

“I-I dragged Freddy into the real w—waking world,” the teen corrected hastily, “waking world, and he, he fucking k-killed Claudette.”

“It’s okay Quen,” the botanist muttered in a soothing voice. “I’m here now, and its over.”

“He gouged out your eyes Claud!” Quentin exasperatedly voiced with much-too-wide orbs. “ _Gouged them_  right outta y—”

“Please,” Claudette begged, a hand raising to her mouth as moisture glistened in her coffee-coloured orbs, “stop. It… it was quick. It could’ve been much worse.”

“Still h—”

“I’m okay!” Claudette abruptly snapped, the outburst stunning the lot of them—the second one to do so in the past little while. “So, please… just stop talking about it. Please.”

“You escaped though right?” Laurie chimed in, the babysitter quick to read the distressing situation and rapidly propose a change in subject.

Quentin chuckled softly under his breath, a noise David barely caught, and then the boy eyed Laurie apprehensively as he claimed, “I had… unusual help doing so.”

“‘Unusual help?’” Meg commented in confusion.

“Such as?” Jake questioned shortly afterwards.

“Michael. He uh, oh god, it was… he killed Freddy.”

“Woah, really?” Nea offered quite excitedly. “They can kill each other? How?”

“Freddy was standing over me and Myers drove his knife into the back of Freddy’s skull.”

Ace positioned himself by the tag artist to lightly clap her on the shoulder—perhaps as a means of calming the young woman down—and asked, “And you’re sure Krueger actually died?”

“Yeah,” Quentin replied with a little nod, “pretty sure.”

“Sweet!” Feng exclaimed in utter happiness. “So that fucker’s dead then?”

The insomniac bowed his head a touch, his shoulders slumping pitifully as he mumbled, “I-I doubt he’s dead. If the Entity can revive us, then…”

Jake placed a delicate finger to his lip, the man appearing deep in thought, before quietly agreeing with the younger male. “Seems logical.”

“But not necessarily true,” David spoke up while attempting to stray away from the negativity. “Wanker might be gone for good.”

“I doubt it,” Quentin murmured, the teen looking dejectedly and small. “Umm, th-there’s uh, something else too.”

“Wha’ is it love?”

The insomniac gave him a strange look, accompanied by a raised eyebrow, before glancing at Laurie and saying, “Myers carried me to the hatch and dropped me into it. He let me go.”

The Shape actually let Quentin go? Really? David had a difficult time believing that rubbish yet, judging by the teen’s expression, he had no reason to doubt this tidbit of information. After all, The Huntress had spared Quentin and Jake before too, so it  _kind of_  made sense.

Laurie, meanwhile, did not take this news well in the slightest. Her posture immediately went rigid and her mouth contorted into a dangerously thin line. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s the truth, I swear.”

“Michael would never do that. He’s inhuman,” Laurie strongly professed, her voice rising an octave as the woman approached Quentin. “Feels nothing, and stops at nothing to slaughter anyone in his path.”

“I was there Laurie. I saw the whole th—”

“Then you must’ve been dreaming. I know Michael, and I know what he’s capable of. He’s not _merciless_ ,” she aggressively spat, “he’s completely  _ruthless!_ ”

This reaction was unexpected. David knew Laurie as the calm, collected, and incredibly tough woman of the group—or the near equivalent, female version, of Jake. Though this woman he was seeing now was nothing of the sort. She was positively furious, dainty hands clenched into tight fists at her sides as soundless tears cascaded from her robin egg blue orbs. Even her breathing had quieted significantly, the only indication of the action being her chest sharply, subtly, and swiftly heaving every few seconds or so. To say it looked painful to watch, to say the babysitter looked unhappy, was a massive understatement.

And the others supposedly thought the same, select individuals backing away cautiously from the young woman and the impeding emotional storm brewing.

“I wasn’t dream… I’m sorry,” Quentin croaked out sorrowfully, eyelids squeezing shut to keep the accumulating moisture from falling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Given that, the insomniac speedily fled from the vicinity.

“Quentin!” he shouted after the boy. Jesus Christ! This sort of crap was going to be the death of them before any killer, or perhaps the Entity, did them in. “Imma go after ‘im,” he whispered to Claudette and Dwight as he lit a branch from the campfire.

Before he left, David shot Laurie a fiery, meaningful glare to match his current mood. He did not understand why the babysitter was so mithered, but the woman did not have to be a complete bitch about it.

Venturing into the forest, David hastily followed the uncoordinated footprints straight to his intended target. He spotted Quentin lying beneath a tree, the teen appearing to be curled in the fetal position. Thankfully the boy had decided to stop fairly early on as David was not in any mood to chase the other through the endless woods.

“‘ere ya are,” David panted out when he was closer in proximity. He dropped his makeshift torch and haphazardly stamped out the flame with little care. “I—Wha’re ya doin’?”

Quentin shuffled around in the dirt some before uttering in a monotone voice, “Trying to sleep.”

Trying to sleep? Trying to sleep! “Are ya off yer trolley?!”

“Am I what?” the boy questioned exhaustedly. “You know what, whatever. Just go away.”

“Like ‘ell I will! I’m not ‘bout ta let y—”

“Whether you or anyone else likes it or not, I’m gonna fall asleep eventually!” Quentin boldly claimed. “You can’t change that!”

David crouched down in front of the teenager, flashed the boy an unwavering stare, and responded with, “We’re gonna make sure ‘at doesn’t ‘appen so j—”

His statement was interrupted by the sound of Quentin giggling, the action starting off almost silent before gradually morphing into full-blown laughter. It was odd but more so was the expression now gracing the boy’s face. Quentin looked unhinged, so completely unlike his usual self, as if the teen had truly lost his mind to the scourges of this world.

“Wha’s so funny?” he hesitantly asked after gulping down a particularly nervous lump caught in his throat.

“Don’t you get it?” Quentin voiced eerily slow, lips twisting into an unsettling smile. “I  _want_ to fall asleep.”

“ _No!_ Why would y—”

“I’m tired David!” Quentin roared suddenly, tiny bits of spittle flying from his mouth. “I can’t deal with how tired I am. It fucking hurts like hell! Everything just hurts okay, and I just wanna  _sleep!_  So fuck off already!”

“Make me,” David abruptly challenged. There was no way he was bugging off this time. Instead of complying with his request, Quentin made to leave but he was not letting the boy flee again. “Oh no ya don’t.”

“NO!” the boy squawked indignantly at being grabbed and dragged into his toned chest. “Let go of me! Goddammit, fucking lemme _go!_ ”

He gave no verbal response and merely held firm against the smaller male’s weak struggles. As anticipated, Quentin wore himself out a moment later, the insomniac ceasing all movement to rest his head heavily against David’s torso.

“I just wanna die,” Quentin confessed in a hysterical voice, the statement reminding David of his horrible dream all too vividly. “I can’t, I can’t do this anymore. Please David, please. I… I wanna die.”

David tuned out the other male’s uncharacteristically chipper rambling—ignoring the creepy laughter the teen was spewing, and how the word ‘sleep’ was exchanged for the word ‘die’—and simply compressed the boy tighter into his chest. Quentin was essentially losing it, the teen jumping off the deep end and failing to resurface.

Maybe the boy was right. Maybe Quentin could not handle this as well as he, and the others, had hoped. David knew he certainly could not stand having to watching the insomniac unravel right before his very eyes. A teeny glimpse of the boy smooshed in his arms forced his heart to submerge into the bubbling pit of his stomach and his orbs to steadily overflow with salty water.

How the hell was he supposed to save Quentin now? How was one to save someone from themselves?


	25. Sleep Deprivation

“Wanna play another round?” David questioned cautiously, fingers flipping through Ace’s crinkled deck of cards almost lazily.

“No,” Quentin replied with a snippy tone. Sleeping was what he wanted. Sleep, sleep, and more sleep.

Thanks to a certain British scrapper, a vast majority of the survivor group now hovered around him twenty-four-seven—rotating him throughout the population like a sacred toy being shared amongst all the kids in the class. He supposed the unintended breakdown he experienced in front of David some time ago scared the older male, enough so to force the scrapper into taking more drastic measures. It also did not help that the Entity was seemingly unwilling to summon him for a trial. At this point, a trial was the only viable chance he had to gain some distance from his self designated guard dogs such that he might hide away to sleep. And he  _needed_  to sleep; it was not negotiable anymore.

Worse still was the knowledge that Freddy had not been permanently slain—recurrent micro-naps had confirmed his revival well enough—though it came as no earthshattering surprise. His worst nightmare truly was incapable of dying.

Quentin yawned sleepily for what felt like the thousandth time.

This had to stand on record as the lengthiest waking streak he had ever dealt with and, haplessly, he was forced to suffer through all the little hells that living with sleep deprivation induced. The chills and resulting shakes, the migraines, the horrendous strain on his eyes, the lack of motivation to participate in any activity, the mood swings, the hallucinations, and the supposed psychosis. Quentin had tried to maintain his sense of composure, the piece of his crumbling personality which grounded him and preserved his mental stability, though his efforts evidently were ineffective.

Frankly all he cared for was finding a suitable means of sleeping without his attempts being thwarted by his overbearing friends.

“Lemme sleep,” he said to David, his statement sounding more along the lines of a demand.

David merely sighed tiredly, placed the deck of cards to the side and hauled him into an undesired hug. Quentin had struggled against the burly male’s hold in the past with poor results. Hence, given his incredible fatigue, he begrudgingly endured the supposed comforting gesture.

This did not change anything, and this did not excuse what David and the others were doing to him. Bottom line, they were torturing him by purposely keeping him awake.

Now this notion was not completely unanimous among everyone. There had been some pretty nasty fights too, the group not yet divided though a few borders could be seen if he squinted—lines drawn in the dirt.

David, Feng, and Ace were gung-ho with preventing him from nodding off. They did everything in their power to ward off his drowsiness: conversation, tacky jokes, playing games, and etcetera. Feng had once shouted at the top of her lungs, right in his ear he might add, just to be absolutely sure he had not fallen asleep—an annoyingly painful yet successful method.

Some of the others however—namely Claudette, Dwight, Bill, and Jake—were not thrilled with the idea of forcing his wakefulness. Despite their lack of acceptance however, said four were not exactly springing to his aid either. Mostly, if he happened to be within their general vicinity, they watched over him from afar. Although sometimes, if they noticed him dozing off, they deliberately created some loud noise to snap him back into reality and then claimed it to be an accident.

Nea and Meg were on the fence about the issue—not outright repulsed by the decision to keep him awake but not overly accepting of it either—but they still denied him sleep when select others were around. Therefore, he lumped them in the same category as David, Feng, and Ace. Hell, they all fell within the same fucking category.

Laurie though was not apart of the equation given her dissociative behaviour and lingering anger towards him for yet an unspecified reason. To an extent, he partially understood what the babysitter was going through. She knew Michael as a specific someone, a someone whom acted for the sole purpose of killing, hurting, or both. When said specific someone acted beyond that defined scope however, it made her second guess everything she had ever deduced about her brother. He might have experienced a similar reaction if it had been Freddy, but the dream demon usually had an ulterior motive if the bastard let someone go. Perhaps Michael shared an equivalent view and sparing him was actually some obscure form of torture to prolong his agony and torment. After all, he had begged the killer for death—seemed desperate enough for it to be perceived as genuine—and Myers cruelly refused. But then why kill Freddy? He initially thought it had something to do with kill stealing, but maybe Michael wanted to observe his suffering for himself. Just like the others here who declined granting his one desperate wish.

All this pointless thinking was aggravating his head. It was time for some fucking sleep!

“Lemme sleep,” he repeated once again, making sure to bore his weary gaze into David.

At the disapproving shake of the man’s head, Quentin snarled and lashed out, fist striking David across the face with a dull smack. The scrapper appeared unconcerned with his feeble assault and only further depressed as those piercing hazel-green eyes continued to display nothing but pity.

“Don’t you see that you’re killing me!”

The brute frowned, muscled arm attempting to loop itself around his shoulders. “We’re savin’ ya from yerself.”

“No,” he strongly protested, his own arm batting David’s away savagely, “you’re damning me! You’re  _forcing_  me to live in pain and misery. Is that what you want? Is th—”

“I know it seems ‘at way, but y—”

Quentin released a pained little laugh in response, head shaking from side-to-side in disbelief. David did not deny his question ergo the man enjoyed watching him suffer. Maybe the other male, and everyone else, thought this was some kind of game. A kind of survival game depicted in a television series where his so-called friends were the audience and he was the entertainment. Every episode featured a new form of torture he had no choice but to endure, and all his friends lined up—bowls of popcorn, soft drinks and candy at the ready—to happily watch the suspense unfold. To see if he could survive another day. Well fuck them! Fuck all of them!

“I hate you,” he whispered spitefully and just loud enough for the scrapper to hear him.

Now David actually looked upset, his posture becoming slouched while his lips formed a shaky line. There was even a hint of moisture forming in the scrapper’s slightly squinted orbs, the liquid highlighting those greens and browns beautifully. God, what a magnificent actor; someone give this man an award.

And apparently he too was granted a lovely little award. Quentin attempted to hide his smirk as the blackest of fog rolled in from the treeline to engulf David and a few others. Now was the perfect time for a swift retreat.

“Hold up there kid,” Ace hollered from the other side of the campfire. “No need to go runnin’ off by yourself.”

Great, just great. “I don’t need adult supervision,” Quentin quipped in irritation.

“I’ll watch him,” Laurie suddenly piped up, the woman startling the both of them. Where the hell had she popped up from?

“That’s very sweet of you to offer,” the gambler expressed wholeheartedly, “but uh, you two haven’t been on the best of—”

“That’s exactly why I wanna talk to him. In private. To apologize and clear the air.”

Liar. Her expertly schooled face told one story but her body language spoke of another. The babysitter was after something else from him. But what precisely, or was he misreading this entirely?

“Or… you might enjoy watching her be eviscerated,” Freddy spoke wickedly, the man occupying the spot where Ace once stood and scissoring his blades together sensually.

“Go away!” he screamed at the smirking menace, not at all worried over experiencing yet another micro-nap. “Or better yet, go fuck yourself!”

“I-I beg y—” Ace sputtered in shock. The gambler proceeded to remove his cap and scratch at his exposed hair leisurely while sighing. “A mouth as innocent as yours shouldn’t be dripping with profanity.”

Oh brother. Yeah, it was definitely Ace and not Freddy anymore. Thankfully the dream demon’s brief visit had been uneventful. His sudden ‘profanity’ though seemed to spike some concern.

Keep calm, his mind helpfully warned, a warning he decided to heed. He had to keep it together or at least appear to be doing so. Laurie wanting to speak with him alone was the perfect escape he yearned for. He could not afford to accidentally ruin this rare opportunity!

“Whatever,” he responded to the gambler nonchalantly.

“I’ll be with him the whole time we’re gone,” Laurie assured while approaching to grab at his forearm, “and I’ll escort him back after we’re done.”

“Alright,” Ace relented after releasing another prolonged sigh, “but don’t be gone for too long doll. A man gets worried, y’know.”

It was spoken with suave-like humour, but the older man was undoubtably nervous about him leaving the campground. Well too fucking bad.

Passing through the outlying trees, he allowed Laurie to drag him further and further into the woods, her strides swift though her destination remained unknown. But destination be damned. If anything, trekking deep within the forested area was the best way to avoid being discovered too quickly by the others. Now all he needed to do was ditch Laurie and he was golden for some quality snooze time.

Or perhaps it might be beneficial to lure the young woman over to his side. If his attempts at sleep proved unsuccessful or if Freddy decided to ‘wake him up’ prematurely, it would be nice to have a reliable person to lean on. An individual to falsely appeal to in order to catch some z’s in the future.

“I still don’t believe you,” Laurie stated firmly, the young woman ceasing their progression before breaching into the darker parts of the woods, “the things you claimed happened.”

“Believe what you want,” he uttered plainly. “It happened.”

She seemed agitated by his response, her brows coming to knit tightly together. “But I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you.”

“Congratulations. Are we done now?”

Now the babysitter was thoroughly peeved, robin egg blue orbs glaring hurtfully into him. “What’re y—”

“I really don’t give a damn ‘bout what you have to say right now,” he confessed rather unforgivingly. “The only thing I want is to be able to fucking sleep.”

“I’m trying to  _apologize_  to you,” the babysitter stressed with an annoyed, sisterly tone of voice.

“No, you want me to accept your apology. Right?”

A stern yet hesitant nod followed.

“Fine. I will,” he truthfully declared, “if you’ll let me sleep.”

“But...”

“It’d be a really nice thing of you to do,” he added sweetly. “ _Merciful_  even.”

Quentin knew he was acting like a dirtbag but he had zero patience for any kind of drama or conversation. Besides, while this may be a low blow, this was likely the only opportunity he was going to receive. His watchdogs were gone and he was far away in an unmarked region of the woods. If he was capable of making Laurie bend to his wish, then he was not above utilizing a little sensitive persuasion.

“He’ll come after you,” Laurie murmured, clearly referring to Freddy.

“He’s always been after me,” he explained, his patience slowly waning, “and he can still get to me when I have micro-naps or when I’m in trials. Whatever happens is gonna happen, but I won’t make it easy for Freddy.”

“I-I shouldn’t,” she stammered out in uncertainty, “you shouldn’t.”

“I know what I’m asking for and I know what I’m getting myself into,” he strongly asserted. “Freddy’s dangerous but he has his flaws, likes to hear himself talk. If I can keep him talking then I’ll be fine.”

“And you think you can do that?” she skeptically inquired.

“I’ve done it in the past without him catching on.”

“The others w—”

“I need this! Laurie, please,” he pleaded while ensuring his eyes looked big and wounded. “I’ll tell them it was all my fault if we get caught. I’ll accept your apology, and you can even have the fully-stocked medical kit I’ve been saving.” Quentin closed the gap between them to delicately rest a palm on her shoulder. Tilting her chin up with his free hand, Quentin offered the woman his best impression of an endearing puppy and said, “You can have anything you want, just let me have  _this._ ”

Come on Laurie, break already! The babysitter appeared incredibly uneasy, her arms crossing nervously over her chest as she eyed him with a frown.

“I… I watch you the whole time,” she began to say with a raised finger, “and if you so much as  _twitch_ , I’m waking you up. No exceptions, no complaints.”

Quentin nodded enthusiastically, sagging lips forming into a big smile.

“Alright,” she quietly huffed out, her tone sounding reluctant. “Take off your vest.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It’ll be more comfortable if you lie on your vest instead of the ground,” she explained.

“Right, right,” he muttered while immediately complying with her request without any real thought.

Shrugging out of his vest, Laurie snatched it from him to fold it into a small square. Once finished, she laid the folded material on a patch of flat dirt and urged him to rest his head on it. He instantly obliged, head nestling into the fabric while his body curled into a comfortable position.

“Thank you Laurie,” he expressed with the utmost gratitude, relief washing over his face before he sought out the heavenly call of sleep.

\--------------------

Quentin never thought he would be so elated to be within the dreamworld once more.

The tedious sight of Badham Preschool was abnormally welcoming this time around. The foundation additionally was intact too, its structure unmarred by weathering and decay. It looked exactly how he remembered it as a young boy, and he could not have been happier to take it all in right now.

Majority of his bodily pain had vanished upon entering the dreamworld too and his head finally felt screwed on straight in comparison to in the waking world. That being said, he had to make a point of apologizing to Laurie later—and Ace, and everyone else—and properly hearing her out if things went well. He owed her that much for this little favour.

Now all that remained was managing a likely temperamental Freddy.

His intention was to prolong his stay in the dreamworld—more time here equaled more precious sleep for him—but to do that effectively, he had to keep Freddy entertained without the man causing serious damage to him. He told Laurie he was going to keep the bastard talking and it seemed like the best option he had available at the moment.

“Welcome back angelfish,” his worst nightmare cooed from behind.

Well at least he did not have to play hide and seek to find the guy.

“Hey Freddy,” he uttered in greeting after swivelling around to face the man.

Quentin internally hummed in consideration over what topic he was going to pitch. Something stimulating yet not provoking a negative reaction. Although, depending on the other’s current mood, whatever he said might work against him anyways. In all seriousness, there was something he was curious to uncover the truth about.

“Were you always alone?” he abruptly inquired. “You seem to really miss my company.”

Freddy smiled widely, gloved hand extending forward to brush his beanie gently from his head. Those steel tips lightly twirled a few brunette curls while the man confessed, “I always miss my favourite boy.”

“I meant when you were living here, at Badham,” Quentin clarified while gesturing to the building behind him. “Never saw you with friends or anything. Just us kids. Were we really that important to you?”

Freddy gawked at him critically, obviously suspicious over the random questions or perhaps the direction of the conversation. Nevertheless, the dream demon honoured his inquiry with a vague, “More than you’ll ever know. Why the sudden curiosity?”

“N-Nothing,” he subtly stuttered out, “just—”

“Worried that I’d disappear and leave you all alone?” the man proposed.

“I wasn’t the one who was alone.”

“No,” Freddy said, extending the ‘o’ obnoxiously, “you had dear old daddy to protect you. A wonderful, caring man indeed.”

The dream demon’s sarcasm was ill appreciated, the statement causing Quentin to utter, “You don’t know a thing about my father.”

“I know quite a bit,” Freddy proclaimed with an unreadable expression. “I know how disappointed he was with you as a son.”

Disappointed? Quentin gritted his teeth angrily but refused to grant the man the satisfaction of upsetting him.

“I know he hurt you,” the dream demon continued, his tone nearly sounding sad if it were possible. Though that quickly changed when Freddy quietly spat, “And I know he burned me alive, wiping away  _all_  evidence of your abuse.”

“Namely you.”

“Yes,” the man agreed rather readily, “me… the only person who knew how terrible daddy really was.”

“H-He wasn’t,” Quentin murmured with slight hesitation, “he was, was...”

He wanted to express every good quality his father possessed, but he honestly could not remember anything concrete. All he was capable of recollecting was the verbal torture, the awkward conversations, and the gruelling tension always present in their household after his mother had left. Oh, and not to mention his father swiping his precious medication and caffeine, and then locking him in his room for ‘his own good’ after assuming he had gone crazy—probably just like Nancy. Why was that all he could recall?

“Mrs. Winton and Mrs. Russell never even knew, and the other kids didn’t understand.  _I_ was the only one who knew, who understood it all,” the man emphasized heatedly while moving to stand directly in front of him. “I was never the bad guy Quen, but you made me out to be one. All of you kids did…”

“‘Cause you ar—”

“But your father was far worse,” Freddy cut in with a foreboding tone. “Perhaps you need a reminder of just how bad dear old dad was?”

Quentin took an unconscious step back while offering the other a quiet, “No.”

A second later, a solid smack to the side of his skull dropped him on flat on his stomach.

“I told you  _never_  to speak of her!” someone roared from above, the voice resembling his father’s perfectly.

What the fuck just happened? Glancing around, he noted the preschool had been switched out for the not-so-homey living room in his house. All the details touched a familiar nerve: the nearly empty walls which used to be littered with family portraits; the mundane furniture arranged in a very specific fashion; the bland white carpet which displayed all kinds of filth; and the stupid leather couch his father oh so adored to nap on. Either way, no matter how it came off, it was home all the same.

Oh f—Damn it all! He was a fucking child again too! But, thankfully, a quick flex of his fingers revealed that he was in control of his tiny vessel. For now at least.

“Never speak of her again!” Alan Smith venomously shouted, face practically full-on red from anger. “Do you understand?”

Who was her? Wait, was he talking about mom?

“Answer me!” the man boomed, giant hands coiling around his thin biceps and squeezing hard.

“You’re hurting me,” he whined out, his voice annoyingly high-pitched.

“You will never speak of that, that  _woman_  again!” his father commanded while shaking him senseless. “Is that clear?”

There were definitely bruises forming underneath those tight fists currently squeezing the circulation out of his arms. He had to make his father stop, quell the man’s rage before bones were broken.

“Y-Yes,” he whimpered, “I under-understand.”

Alan sighed in relief, the man seeming calmer though still appearing slightly agitated.

“Good,” his father expressed with a pat to his head, Quentin unconsciously flinching away from the touch. “Now c’mon, it’s time for school. Get your things and meet me at the front door.”

The scene instantly faded away in the blink of an eye, the living room being replaced with his old bedroom. Good grief Freddy! Pick a scene and stick with it! This was actually giving him whiplash.

At this age, his room was rather basic too minus the posters of his favourite books and cartoons adorning the walls. The other, non-basic thing present in the room, or more accurately person, was his father sitting on his rabbit-themed bedspread. Alan’s eyebrows were pinched tightly together as he glared a small object in his hands.

Noticing his presence, his father hoisted the square-shaped object into the air and asked, “What’s this?”

“Umm, what’s what?”

“Why d’you have this? I told you not to keep _any_ of them!” his father spat furiously.

Was that a picture? Wait, was that one of him and his mother? It was, but that was impossible. His father made sure to remove anything and everything associated with her—especially pictures. Although, he vaguely recalled keeping one photograph in particular—a picture of him and his mother sitting happily together on Christmas morning. Had he stashed it away for safekeeping? He supposed so given how his father had found it, and now he was in deep trouble.

“You disobedient little brat!” the man yelled, ripping the cherished photograph to shreds and stomping menacingly towards him.

Thoroughly panicked, Quentin bolted down the hall and into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and braced himself up against the wooden barrier but his father easily shoved his way inside. If he had his seventeen-year-old body, he would have been able to barricade the door properly. But at five-years-old, he was essentially a small, flimsy traffic cone—effortlessly pushed or rolled over by any force.

“I’m sorry,” he offered as a last-ditch effort to appease the man.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it Quen. I told you not to do something and you disobeyed me,” his elder harshly chided. “Now I need to make sure you don’t do it again.”

Make sure? What was that supposed to imply?

“I-I didn’t think it was an issue,” Quentin continued to babble while watching the angry man sit down on the closed toilet lid.

Then his father was pulling him over his bulky knee. Pants and undies were tugged down next followed by a massive palm striking at his hindquarters. Each swat to his fanny drove a pitiful squeak from him along with several tears. Had the man actually resorted to spanking him over a picture?

“Stop it,” he wailed miserably, “stop it!”

The unforgiving strikes only continued, his buttocks no doubt cherry red by now.

“FREDDY!”

“What? I’m just trying to jog your memory,” the dream demon idly commented, the man replacing his father on the toilet lid. “It’s almost sad how little you remember about this.”

“Don’t touch me!” Quentin shrilly screeched, removing himself from the man’s lap and pulling his corduroys back into place.

Without another second of hesitation, stubby legs sprinted out of the bathroom only to run straight into one of the many classrooms at Badham Preschool, the door slowly creaking closed behind him. The chalkboard had numerous letters and drawings scribbled on it in multi-coloured chalk. Two fairly large, oval-shaped braided rugs—each a light sky-blue colour—splayed over the floor. Additionally, the miniature chairs and tables, which normally were scattered throughout the room, were shoved up against the edges of the rectangular space. To complete the décor, Freddy sat patiently on the lone adult-sized chair at the front of the room.

Oh fuck this, he internally voiced.

Rotating swiftly on heel, Quentin opened the door and promptly growled. Freddy had played another dirty trick and blocked his exit with a wall of water lying beyond the doorframe which somehow was not flooding into the classroom.

He hastily slammed the door shut when, what he presumed to be, blood began mixing into the aqua blue water. Taking a moment to bang his forehead against the door, Quentin twisted around to address the presumptuous bastard in the room.

“He was just upset about the divorce,” he resumed without worrying too immensely about the near constant changes in scenery. “He would’ve never hurt me if they’d stay—”

“You think so, but I doubt th—”

“And what you did was way w—”

“What I did? I _loved_ you kids,” Freddy declared with such emotion it took Quentin off-guard. Freddy proceeded to stand though refrained from approaching him—the bastard probably was not in the mood to chase him then. “I never hurt any of you.”

Quentin shook his head briefly before disgustedly whispering, “You’re delusional if you believe that.”

A short pause, but then the sick fuck started to chuckle, an odd smirk forming on his mangled face. “So ready to condemn me, defend daddy... you still don’t know the truth,” the dream demon uttered meaningfully, “do you?”

He glowered suspiciously at the other while responding with a guarded, “About what?”

“Oh c’mon,” the man teasingly voiced. “Daddy never mentioned  _why_  he got divorced?”

“No, of course not… and he sure as hell wouldn’t tell you!” he argued while thrusting a finger at the dream demon.

“Oh, he didn’t, but word travels fast in a small area. It wasn’t the biggest talk of the town mind you,” Freddy claimed with an unsettling wink, “but it was quite scandalous.”

“Wha-What was?”

That grotesque smirk of his grew wider as Freddy declared, “Daddy dearest cheating on his wife with one of the teachers at the high-school.”

“ _What?_  No... no, that’s a lie!”

“Mommy eventually caught on and he claimed it was a mistake,” the man resumed gleefully, “that he loved her and only her. But she refused to forgive him, felt so  _betrayed_ … so  _used_.”

“Liar!” Quentin charged at the man only to pass straight through Freddy’s legs and awkwardly fall onto all fours.

Those late nights his father spent at the high-school… it was just for work. Handling maintenance for the school, managing the staff and students, organizing funds and whatnot. Nothing more, or so his doubting mind wished to believe.

“So she left behind her cheating husband, and everything attached to the man. Even her own son,” Freddy whispered from behind him, the bastard effectively delivering the crushing emotional blow.

“You’re full of shit!” he exclaimed as he hastily rose to his feet yet kept his gaze directed to the carpet. “That never happened! She loved us, she—”

“I never said she didn’t love you. She just couldn’t bear the sight of you,” Freddy explained in the cruelest manner possible while circling around to his front. “The boy who was the spitting image of his dirty father.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he roared.

Quentin pounded his tiny fists into the man’s leg, his hits only producing paltry damage at best.

But then a warmth enveloped him, long arms wrapping over his pint-sized form and forcing him into a tender hug.

He felt strangely lightheaded, a calming and sleep-inducing fog spreading within the confines of his brain.

Currently residing in the body of a child, he truly felt small in the other’s arms. It was a little frightening even. Plus, being embraced by the dream demon in such an affectionate manner would never cease to disturb him; however, enduring a hug was a small price to pay as opposed to several other, nastier things. Do not just forget everything that asshole said, his mind demanded in exasperation through the mental fog.

“Feel better Quen?”

Huh? Freddy normally sounded quite gruff and raspy, but now the dream demon’s voice was crystal clear and pleasing to the ear. He carefully extracted himself from the man to peer up at the other male.

Instead of gazing upon the burned Freddy he despised with a passion, his eyes found smooth skin, intact and clean clothes, actual hair resting underneath a pristine fedora, and soft eyes of the smoothest brown staring fondly back at him—the original Freddy.

Quentin had nearly forgotten what the man used to look like, the one he had always longed to see every day at preschool.

No, wait, that surely was not right. He had seen Freddy multiple times in this form in the dreamworld. Or had he imagined it? His mind was so foggy now, the overwhelming cloud robbing him of almost all thought.

“F-Freddy?” he shakily asked, a baby-like hand reaching up to touch the man’s warm, flawless cheek. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing and physically confirming it merely stunned him further.

Never before had Freddy appeared to him in the dreamworld as his unburned self. Not without it being attached to some horrible memory. No, no... it definitely had been never before.

And the man’s behaviour towards him? Everything felt so familiar and not in an uncomfortable or foreboding manner. If the man was reminding him of anything, it was of a good memory. A  _pleasant_  memory he experienced while spending time with Freddy. A single tear streaked down the side of his cherub cheek as his eyes watered in utter happiness.

“Shh,” the man cooed gently and embraced him once again, “it’s alright now Quentin.”

Quentin was oddly comfortable, if that were truly possible with Freddy, and so much so that he was even snuggling into the other’s light, olive-coloured shirt.

No, no, no. What the fuck was he doing? This was wrong. This was very, very wrong! The man in front of him may not have always been his mortal enemy, but he was now. He could not lose himself to old, joyous memories of a time long past.

Yet this was what he wanted, right? To kill time? Do not give in, his foggy mind shouted without an ounce of sympathy. Why not? This was infinitely better than participating in a one-sided chase or being gutted.

“How ‘bout we play a little game?”

A game? He loved playing games with Freddy. “What kinda game?”

“A special kind of game,” Freddy barely elaborated. “One for a very special little boy.”

Why that sounded positively delightful. He was not averse to... no! ‘Special games’ translated into perverted games where the big, bad adult took advantage of the gullible kid. Unfortunately for the twisted fuck, he was no longer that same kid.

Forcing the suffocating fog from his mind, he responded with a defiant, “Go play by yourself!”

Quentin hastily shimmied free from the other male and turned to flee but was instantly punched in the nose, the abrupt impact knocking him on the centre of one of the rugs.

How the hell? Oh.

Freddy had finally broken the illusion of him inhabiting the body of his five-year-old self. Hence how the prick was able to hit him without additionally having to be the size of a short stool. Hopefully that meant his voice was no longer akin to a gerbil on helium.

“Apparently nice guys finish last in your book,” the dream demon grumpily remarked, his body momentarily being masked by a shroud of pulsating blood. “Or perhaps,” Freddy added, his voice oddly higher in pitch, “you prefer something a little nicer?”

Quentin had two seconds to register Nancy—alluring skin, long flowing brunette hair, beautiful greyish-green eyed Nancy—standing before him before he was being straddled and feeling soft lips pressing against his own.

He whimpered into the surprise kiss, the gentle pressure so pleasingly familiar but unfortunately coming from the wrong person. “Don’t,” he griped between their locked mouths.

“I thought you wanted this?” she questioned with an out-of-place seductive tone, her mouth hovering mere centimetres above his. “Weren’t you supposed to take me out on a real date?”

Breaking free from those tempting lips a second time, Quentin headbutted Nancy while offering the shifter a curt, “Fuck off!”

“Quit being such a dick,” she remarked though with someone else’s voice.

More pulsating blood surrounded Nancy, the girl offering him a sickening smile and a wink before her face was engulfed. When it cleared, Quentin was left to stare up at his friend Jesse Braun. Dark and unruly hair draped down Jesse’s brow to nearly fall into his steely eyes while a cocky grin accented his pronounced jawline. At least the other was not covered in blood from a very specific hole punched through his chest.

“You gotta relax man,” Jesse uttered forcefully before an equally forceful pair of lips crashed into his and attempted to gain entry. Another wave of better, albeit painful, memories resurfaced with every insistent press of firm lips yet he continued to deny anything to breach his defenses. Possibly annoyed by his lack of cooperation, his head was abruptly jerked to the side with Jesse’s warm breath tickling the inner shell of his ear. “C’mon Quen. You know I’ll make it good.”

No, no, and another absolutely fucking no!

Tired of pleading with the dream demon, Quentin merely struggled, his foot managing to catch Jesse in the chest and boot the man off of him. An embarrassed flush blossomed across his cheeks, the colour no doubt matching the blood leaking from his nostrils, as he breathlessly spat, “Stop fucking with me!”

“Oh? Well,” Jesse muttered, form disappearing to revert back to a smirking, barbequed Freddy, “if you insist.”

“I won’t let you get away with this! My friends won’t let you,” he boldly stated despite it coming out as a cliché. “They’ll wake me up!”

“Is that so?”

“Damn r—”

Wait, what? His voice! What happened to his voice? Raising a hand to touch his throat, he squeezed his windpipe experimentally to feel no vibrations. He was speaking, lips moving and everything, but no sounds were coming out. It did not hurt or anything; his voice was simply gone.

“But if they can’t hear you scream,” Freddy punctuated slowly. Thick threads from the rug, with a width similar to that of a thin table leg, sprang upwards to tangle around his wrists and ankles and restrain them into the rug in an upside down ‘Y’ pattern—as if his limbs had been sewn directly into the coarse fabric. “If they can’t see you struggle, then we can keep playing for a long,  _long_  time.”

Quentin screamed in anguish but, like his prior attempt, no noises escaped his esophagus.

“Don’t worry angelfish,” the man softly soothed while moving to squat beside his struggling form. “I’m upset too. I love listening to that angelic voice of yours... screaming and moaning in ecstasy.”

He screwed his watery orbs shut and shook his head thoroughly from left to right. Quentin had believed the man would be in a worse mood after the whole pulling-him-out-of-the-dreamworld-and-Michael-murdering-him business. As such, he hoped Freddy would simply cut him up or something, kill him even.

Not verbally bash his father or kiss him or any of this other shit!

If he had been smarter, he could have extended their conversation, surrendered longer to the man’s cringe-worthy hug. Maybe even endured Nancy’s or Jesse’s company for a spell—even if it was a horrible illusion. God, he was such an idiot! Why did he overreact so quickly?

He was royally screwed.

“Now,” Freddy began, claws running down Quentin’s tear-stained cheek, “how ‘bout we have some more  _fun_  before naptime, hmm? Getcha all nice and tired? What d’ya say?”

Instead of succumbing to his escalating panic, he sucked in a deep breath to control his bodily tremors. Quentin had to remind himself: he brought this on. He fell asleep knowing full well of all the potential consequences which came with it.

Eyeing the dream demon with sheer bitterness, Quentin spat at the killer, watching with satisfaction as the glob of saliva trailed down the man’s sneering face.

He chose sleep and, by extension, chose to endure Freddy and all of his insufferable bullshit. Even so...

“Laurie,” he mutely whispered to himself as he screwed his orbs painfully shut, “please wake me up.”


	26. Burden My Heart | Part I

“Get your shit together David,” Meg hissed from across the recently regressed generator.

David offered her a melancholy apology before resuming his repair work. He tried to keep his thoughts centred on the task at hand, but his mind kept wandering back to a certain exhausted teenager. Correction: a certain exhausted and angry teenager. Angry with him at least.

He liked to believe the hate comment Quentin had whispered to him was simply a product of sleep deprivation. It had to be. Several of them, Bill most notably, in fact got quite prickly when they missed out on getting some precious shuteye. Besides, in this instance, he had nothing but the insomniac’s best interests at heart. He was finally able to protect the boy, and surely Quentin was incapable of despising him for that. Wait, despise? Where did despise come from?

A burst of bright light engulfing his vision along with a loud bang startled him from his internal reassurances.

“Damn!” he cursed quickly before bringing his singed fingers to his lips to soothe the burn.

His palms were too slick with perspiration to maintain a firm grip on the flimsy wiring. And you’re not really paying attention mate, his mind supplied tiredly, a statement which he begrudgingly decided not to argue against.

A peek across the machine had him instantly sweating profusely in panic. Meg looked nearly two milliseconds away from thwacking him, her complexion gradually shifting from fair to a complimentary shade of red to match her hair.

Clearing his throat and turning away from the heated glare currently burning holes in his face, David hastily stammered out, “Imma go, uh, look for ‘nother gen.”

Without a further glance, he booked it down the hallway and veered into the adjoining medical ward just to be safe. Normally he was more than capable of handling the heat—frequently welcomed it though perhaps less so now—but the thought of Meg slapping him stupid over his lack of concentration was not appealing. Pondering his prior departure, it may have been beneficial for Meg if he had stuck around to distract the killer. Or maybe not.

Leaving the woes of the trial aside, he and Meg were not exactly on the best terms at the moment. Well, actually, to be completely accurate, friendships seemed to be strained all across the board.

“Fuck it,” he grumbled to himself while stretching his muscles in preparation.

If he wished to be thoroughly distracted for his inner ramblings, and be the least bit helpful to his team, he might as well do what he did best: bait the killer. All this emotional crap required some physical balance, and what better way to even the score than with a decent scrap.

“Oi, killer!” he hollered down the converging corridors while cracking his knuckles expectantly. “Ya brave enough ta ‘ave a go with the king? I’ll take ya on!”

No response other than the cawing of crows to his left and static blaring from the busted televisions. Which killer was it this time anyways? With how quiet it was, David was inclined to assume their killer was a stealthy bugger, like The Wraith or Myers. Or maybe even The Hag given how oddly sneaky the wrinkly bitch was with her annoying traps.

“C’mon ‘en y—Gah!”

A sudden slice to his arm interrupted his jeer, the culprit none other than a rusty bone saw now coated in his crimson essence.

The Nurse. Why had he not heard her ear-splitting screeches beforehand? They were impossible to miss. Unless, of course, she had been floating around instead of teleporting. Which, by the way, was an idiotic move on her part given how utterly _slow_ the bitch was. When he had first encountered the woman, he expected her to move quicker than any of the other killers. Instead, her regular speed was akin to a feather flitting leisurely in a gentle breeze. Her unique ability compensated for this strange weakness. A power The Nurse had finally opted to utilize if her raised and glowing hand was of any indication.

He knew not why the woman had held back from teleporting until now. Sneaking up on them was the most logical reason he could deduce even if it made little sense. With her usual speed, she would never catch them all, and one single use of her power, or blink as Feng had dubbed it, would reveal her identity to the remaining survivors anyways. So, for her little strategy—if it was one—to work effectively, she would have to float around the entire realm.

Whatever. He wanted a brawl, and he was damn well going to get one. If nothing else, the surge of adrenaline in his bloodstream would make him feel a little more alive.

\--------------------

David, unsurprisingly, ended up dying alongside Meg. Miraculously however, he had survived up until the bitter end and just long enough to allow Jake to open the exit gate and escape with Nea. Though Nea avoided a premature death in the basement all thanks to her literal firecracker of a girlfriend.

Meg had remained somewhat disturbed after hearing the torture Nea had endured at The Nightmare’s hand. As such, when the tag artist was faced with harm, Meg transformed into a fierce, protective force—especially when the runner finally realized Nea was in the trial alongside her.

Normally Meg was not the altruistic type, and she had never been so aggressive for a safe hook rescue in the past. He guessed that the runner might actually be mithered with him for allowing Nea to bleed out and die during that torturous, unspeakable trial. She never mentioned it but actions always trumped words in his books, and her behaviour and semi-hot hostility towards him spoke volumes.

He initially suspected Meg’s change in behaviour had something to do with the should-or-should-not-allow-Quentin-to-sleep fiasco, but Claudette had vaguely debunked his theory. ‘It’s a personal problem she’s trying to work through,’ the botanist had said when he questioned her about Meg. David pieced that together to imply Meg was furious with him but, more than likely, Nea was preventing her girlfriend from beating the crap out of him. Honestly, he had half a mind to coax Meg into acting out her frustrations on him; anything to relieve the tension between them. Then again, presently there was quite a fair bit of tension among the whole group. Jake had certainly been rather frigid towards him this trial.

Maybe they all should just have an all-out punch-out. He had felt infinitely better pummeling The Nurse, and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacular head rush it induced, even though he inevitably lost. Still, it was fucking worth it for the momentary reprieve.

Reaching the sanctuary that was the campfire—or perhaps sauna was more fitting given all the recent heat thrown around—his eyes did a double take. The entire gang had clustered together into a wide-looking circle, with some standing and some squatting, and all of them were staring downward.

“Oi, guys,” he called out in greeting while approaching the group, “why’re ya st—Quen!” Among seeing Quentin laying in the centre of the cluster, David immediately dove in to check on the teen. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“He fell asleep,” Ace forlornly offered up the obvious answer.

“Oh fuck,” David whispered in trepidation. “Quen, Quentin! Wake up!”

“Relax David,” Meg butted in calmly though an edge could still be heard in her voice. “He looks, erm, peaceful?”

Thrusting a finger at the apparent tear tracks running down the insomniac’s cheeks, David irritably exclaimed, “Cryin’ looks peaceful ta you?”

Meg shrugged her tense shoulders and defended herself by saying, “In the right context. Y’know, like umm, happy crying.”

“A-And he, uh, doesn’t have any cuts or anything,” Dwight added, the leader likely attempting to be helpful or prevent a fight.

“So what? Innit obvious ‘at the bloody wanker don’t gotta make ‘im bleed ta ‘urt ‘im.”

“Or maybe he really _is_ okay and we’re all overreacting,” Feng murmured in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

David was not hearing any of this idiocy right now. Had they all forgotten about Quentin being butchered and killed in his sleep? _Right in front of their very eyes?_ “‘ow can you s—”

“I couldn’t wake him up,” Laurie abruptly cut in to explain. “I know that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong, but when he started crying… I don’t know.”

“Was he screaming or anyth—”

“‘old on now,” David interjected before allowing Nea to finish. Shooting a suspicious glare towards the babysitter, he practically demanded, “Why were _you_ tryin’ ta wake ‘im up?”

He was still moderately resentful of Laurie for her unnecessary anger towards Quentin. Hell she had basically snubbed the insomniac, and he had no intention of pitying her because of some bizarre overreaction she experienced. Furthermore, _her_ of all people trying to awaken the tired teen had his hair standing on edge.

“‘Cause I was with him when he fell asleep,” she admitted after a prolonged minute.

“As in alone?” David further probed, his temper reawakening from its temporary dormant state.

“Yes,” the babysitter confirmed, “al—”

“Quit interrogating Laurie,” Meg randomly interrupted for no reason whatsoever. “God, you’ve been nothing but an insensitive ass lately.”

“Me?” he sputtered in outrage. “Yer the one actin’ like a fuckin’ ‘ormonal cun—”

“Who the fuck’re you calling a hormonal—”

“Ya wanna ‘ave a go—”

“ _STOP IT!_ ” Laurie essentially screeched at the top of her lungs, the shrill sound rendering him deaf for a few seconds. The babysitter truly had an amazingly powerful screaming voice. “I’m _sick_ of this! This has to stop,” she added quietly afterwards as her slightly watery gaze diverted to the ground.

Jake was by her side seconds later, the saboteur reaching out to intertwine his fingers with hers. Laurie smiled at the man and leaned into him a bit—perhaps as a sign of gratitude or affection.

“You kids’re gonna be the death of me,” Bill grumbled out after sighing, the comment managing to dispel some of the thick tension hovering in the air.

“I dragged him away from the campfire to talk,” the babysitter softly continued. “With what he said about Michael, I-I haven’t exactly been—”

“Get ta the point lass,” he snapped hurriedly. While the whole story was likely a touching, tear-filled one, David had only an ear for the important points.

The slight narrowing of Jake’s brow occurred before Laurie stiffly revealed, “I let him fall asleep.”

This little piece of news ripped a soundless gasp from his esophagus, the information not only stunning the absolute shite out of him but a couple of the others as well.

“Why would y—No! ‘ow the ‘ell could’a do ‘at! Wha’s wrong wi—”

“He was desperate, he… he wasn’t, he wasn’t himself. And keeping him awake, it... it’s  _cruel!_ ”

“Yer wr—”

“It’s _utterly cruel_ David!” Laurie cut in before he could even begin to argue otherwise. “It’s no different than Krueger letting Bill and Nea bleed out instead of killing them quickly. It’s no different than Krueger beating you and torturing Dwight.”

The babysitter broke free from Jake’s embrace to crouch beside him, the young woman staring deeply into his eyes while uttering, “And we’re  _torturing_ Quentin by keeping him awake.”

“Rubbish!” he immediately denied. “We’re not doin’ anythin’ wrong. We’re helpin’ ‘im as best we ca—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Laurie adamantly professed. “How many times has Quentin been hurt or killed from having a micro-nap?”

“‘at not th—”

“ _How many?_ ” the babysitter reiterated with extra emphasis.

Too many, his brain whispered dejectedly though his mouth refused to vocalize the words.

David believed with all his heart that he was helping Quentin by preventing the repulsive demon that was Freddy Krueger from getting to him—at least most of the time anyways. Although, belatedly he supposed his efforts focused more so on the goal and less on the person suffering the harsh effects from attaining said goal.

Christ this was awful.  _He_  was awful.

David exhaled, the action stirring up a rather peculiar pain in his chest before muttering, “I—”

“Stop it,” the insomniac sobbed lowly in his sleep, “stop it.”

Ace inched a touch closer and uttered a strangled, “Kid?”

“Is he waking up?” Claudette asked hopefully.

“What’s he sayin’?” Bill questioned while cupping a hand to his ear.

“FREDDY!” Quentin violently shouted as his eyelids scrunched up in supposed agony.

He cursed quickly through clenched teeth before going back to rousing the boy. “Quentin! C’mon love,” he pleaded hopefully, “ya gotta wake up right now. Ya ‘ear me, right _now!_ ”

The others joined in shortly after, desperately pleading and occasionally screaming at the unconscious boy to awaken. Failing miserably with his rough shakes, David resorted to slapping and pinching which only produced similar results.

“Anybody have something we can poke him with?” Meg inquired, the woman temporarily shoving their little verbal spat to the side in order to aid their friend.

Jake shook his head sorrowfully and confessed, “I lost my toolbox in my previous trial.”

“Claud?” Ace addressed the botanist with a pat on the shoulder. “Your emergency medical kit had surgical scissors in it s—”

“Used up during my last trial,” the botanist squeaked out through tears.

“Okay, uh, how ‘bout…” the runner paused likely to conjure up a few options before proposing, “burning him?”

“W-We already tried that with his pinkie,” Dwight informed before removing his glasses to wipe at the lenses—a newly acquired, nervous habit of his.

“His _pinkie?_ Really?” Meg whined in sheer disbelief. “You think he’d feel that? I’d barely feel that. Let’s try burning something else, something _bigger_.”

“Babe,” Nea breathed out swiftly, “we can’t just go burning random body par—”

“Maybe we should stick his whole hand in the fire,” Feng suggested with a small, uncertain shrug.

“Excuse me,” the tag artist sassed irritability while gesturing to herself, “I’m not talking to myself here!”

Bill blew out a thin stream of smoke before turning to Laurie and asking, “What ‘bout that shard of glass you carry on ya?”

“Broken,” the babysitter replied almost noiselessly.

David allowed their pointless bickering to gently fade away into the background as he stared at Quentin’s sleeping face. Those tear tracks had been renewed for another round of tears, and the shadows casted by their silhouettes somehow highlighted the tiny droplets descending down slightly sagging and much too pale skin. At the heart-wrenching sight, his own orbs betrayed him, the infernal things leaking hints of moisture at the corners. His chest hurt like hell as sobs threatened to spew forth alongside the stomach acid rising in the back of his suddenly constricted throat.

Why was this damaging him so much? Why was he simply letting it get to him in the first place?

In the real world, he typically helped his bar mates with the odd brawl or two but, usually, he left them to contend to their own troubles and comeuppance solo. What was a man if he was incapable of standing tall on his own two feet? A pathetic poser. Yet he broke his own self-imposed rule for Alex, a boy he hardly knew anything about, when he saved the selfless idiot that one, fateful night. While his supposedly good deed amounted to little at the time, the experience had felt unique all the same.

The familiar chest-warming feeling he experienced then manifested on several occasions when he aided his friends here, but not in the beginning. When David had initially arrived in this hellhole, saving the others felt like a tedious chore—something akin to removing fragile laundry clipped to a clothesline. Now, however, it was a stronger, more vibrant feeling. A sometimes overwhelming sensation which urged him through the most excruciating of injuries to protect his closest mates.

The reason had been clear for a long time now though he refused to acknowledge it: David actually allowed himself to care for them, really and truly care for them as the greatest friends he had ever the pleasure of knowing.

David allowed a teeny smile to tug at his quivering lips. These guys had indeed changed him, and for the better too. However, no other did quite a number on his behaviour than the tough, self-sacrificing boy lying beside him. And yet David remained powerless to repay Quentin for just being… well, himself.

“Lemme save ‘im,” David murmured under his breath.

Quentin appeared lifeless yet he knew in his gut that the teen was far from experiencing tranquility of any sort. Was this how it had to be? Watching, and imaging when no visual was given, the poor boy struggle and suffer with his worst nightmare until the end of time? Was David truly incapable of doing anything for him? The one person he longed to do more for?

With a mighty roar, David rose upright with furrowed brows and tight fists to viciously belt up at the sky, “LET ME FUCKIN’ _SAVE ‘IM!_ ”

An abrupt, thunderous boom resounded from the darkness hanging above, the booming noise equivalent to the one heard during trials when they destroyed totems. Only this one seemed louder and far more ominous.

“Guys,” Dwight addressed the gang while pointing to the surrounding trees, “look.”

David noted the blackness beyond their campground pooling together, the shadows forming bulbous, swirling clumps before spilling forth from the treeline.

“Trial?” Claudette nervously muttered to no one in particular.

“Unlikely,” Jake mumbled apprehensively.

The fog converged inward from all directions to circle their precious little fire, darkened wisps flirting almost teasingly with arcing flames, before plunging directly into the blaze.

When nothing further happened, Feng felt the need to inquire, “Was that supposed to do something or...”

“Maybe the Entity doesn’t like being bitched at,” Nea tried though she sounded a touch spooked by the theatrics.

“Hello.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell!” David shouted in alarm as his head spun around akin to Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist. “Who said ‘at?”

He eyed the girls meaningfully as the voice had definitely been a feminine one.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nea asserted while defensively waving her hands in the air.

His orbs shifted to Meg whom instantly snapped, “Don’t look at me.”

“The lovely Laurie perhaps,” Ace tried with his usual charm, “or the enchanting Claudette?”

“It wasn’t me,” Claudette gently responded while completely ignoring the gambler’s suaveness.

Robin egg blue eyes scanned to-and-fro around the vicinity as the owner offered a distracted, “Me neither.”

“It is I whom addresses you,” the mystery voice spoke once more.

Bill slowly cranked his neck towards their campfire and murmured a silent, “I?”

“Th-The fire?” Dwight stuttered out.

“Such clever meat,” the blaze replied sweetly.

Their leader backed away from the campfire and then fearfully stammered out, “M-M-Meat?”

“We’re not fucking _meat_ … whoever you are!” Feng angrily spat, her normal personality finally shining through right alongside her smoldering, dark orbs.

“Who are you?” Jake cautiously questioned the swirling flames.

“I am the one who whispers in your ear. I am the creator, the spectator... the devourer. I,” the voice spoke prominently as the fire burned brighter, “am the Entity.”

With wide, disbelieving eyes, David gawked at the talking fire while whispering, “The... Entity.”

“Bullshit,” the gamer said, her foot stamping dully into the dirt beneath their feet.

“Okay,” Meg voiced while dragging out the ending of the word, “now we’ve all l—”

“The  _fire_ is th—”

“What the hell’s go—”

“Maybe this is some kind of ill—”

“Everybody just sh—”

“This is nuttier th—”

“SILENCE!” the fire boomed forcefully along with the darkened sky above. A few places on the ground split apart, the cracks revealing strange red-orange hues glowing from below before filling back in with soil mere moments later. “I am not here to indulge your petty confusion.”

Okay, maybe it honestly was _the_ Entity. Whom else would be capable of such feats? Unless this was a new type of killer screwing with their heads. Or some other creature looking to get a rise from them. In any event, David was equally perplexed and wary of the talking campfire.

“Please Entity,” Claudette voiced as politely and as courteously as possible with her hands delicately clasped in front of her, “please let us go.”

“Yeah,” Meg immediately agreed, “let us the fuck outta here.”

Ace moved closer to the intimidating blaze and heated yelled, “You can’t just keep us here against our will!”

The flames curved upward rather aggressively as the being responded with a subtle, “You are mistaking me for a... merciful god.”

“You... y-you mean,” Dwight stammered dispiritedly, “you won’t let us go?”

“I have no intention of relinquishing my souls,” the Entity answered smoothly, “especially ones with such vigour and _sweetness_.”

Suddenly the blaze expanded, the flames bursting outward in a wide bloom-looking bulb before settling back down. Then, from the top of the fire, a wispy mist floated above the curling arcs to hover there minutely before spiralling leisurely around the fire.

“You all possess purpose,” the being stated affectionately, “a gracious place in my wonderous world.”

The fire-born mist coiled around itself in a loose knot before approaching Dwight.

“My Nervous Leader,” the Entity dubbed, fiery-coloured mist circling around Dwight momentarily—and boy did Dwight look incredibly uncomfortable as the mist coiled around his body—before zipping towards the runner.

Meg crossed her arm over her chest protectively and simply glared at the mist temporarily wrapping around her. “My Energetic Athlete.”

David, though thoroughly boggled by all this, kept cringing at the word ‘my’ and the implications it implied.

“My Studious Botanist,” the being continued to coo, and Claudette seemed to shiver from the Entity’s peculiar touch.

The mist pressed on to encircle Jake and then said, “My Solitary Survivalist.” Jake eyed the mist cautiously yet coldly as it wove between the gaps in his fingers before moving on to the next person in line.

“My Urban Artist,” the Entity went on to say while the mist curled and contorted around the tag artist in a similar fashion.

So, judging by this pattern, they all possessed a unique title, something distinguishing for each specific individual. What did that mean?

“My Determined Survivor, my Lucky Gambler, my Old Soldier, my Focused Competitor.”

Laurie had appeared a little hostile when the mist flitted around her—bloody thing even twirled a lock of her hair—and honestly David could not blame her. Ace looked mildly freaked out though he disguised it fairly well. Bill appeared annoyed or possibly bored with the display, even as the Entity toyed with the cigarette hanging loosely from his aged lips. Feng seemed initially rigid but then straightened up and grinned almost smugly afterwards—probably at being acknowledged as a competitor.

“My Rugged Scrapper,” the Entity resumed, the mist—abnormally bone-chilling despite coming from the fire—tilting his jaw upward as if it were an actual solid hand examining him. Snarling lowly, David batted away the wispy thing like an annoying fly.

“And...” the Entity trailed off as the wispy smoke hovered above Quentin, “my Resolute Dreamwalker. My _favourite_ meal.”

“HEY!” David exclaimed in concern and proceeded to pounce over top of Quentin protectively when the mist attempted to cover the sleeping boy from head to toe. “Stay away from ‘im.”

The fiery-coloured mist dispersed temporarily only to wrap around Quentin’s singed pinkie, the wispy air concealing the digit for a brief moment.

“Is that your true desire? Or perhaps…” the Entity’s voice ceased for a time as its mist receded from Quentin’s finger to reveal flawless skin. “You wish for something more.”

David touched the repaired pinkie to ensure that the healing was not an illusion while mumbling an inattentive, “M-More?”

“LET ME FUCKIN’ _SAVE ‘IM!_ ”

He jumped at the sound of his own voice echoing throughout the cleared space, boisterous and full of raw emotion. She had… had the Entity appeared to help Quentin? As lovely of a thought as it was, this felt far too convenient to be genuine.

Instead of turning towards the campfire, he fiercely glowered at the wispy mist lingering in front of his face and slowly demanded, “Wha’ d’ya want from me?”

“I desire nothing from you,” the Entity replied with a honeyed voice. The chilly mist rose to his face and ran along the side of it like a palm delicately caressing his cheek. “I merely wish to grant your request.”

“Why?” Jake chimed in, his voice as tense as his body. “Why allow something like this to happen in the first place?”

“Yeah,” Feng agreed, “aren’t you supposed to be some kind of all-powerful end boss?”

Nea sputtered subtly and then offered the gamer a pleased, “Nice gaming analogy.”

“If you’re letting it happen,” Bill started to express, “then you have something to gain.” 

“ _Quiet_ ,” the Entity seethed in a garbled, demonic-like voice. Clearly the being was becoming infuriated with their remarks.

Yet, despite practically shitting his pants, David was quite curious for the answer. Why had the Entity allowed something like this happen? Frequently, he might add, and without any apparent consequences to the perverted killer. Maybe, similar to select killers here, the being enjoyed watching them suffer. Then again, the Entity had said ‘favourite meal’ when speaking of Quentin, so perhaps there was something more to it.

Keeping his composure in check, David calmly said to the flittering smoke, “Answer Jake’s question.”

“They intrigue me,” the Entity stated simply after a moment of utter silence. “Of all the souls I have snatched, they are the most fascinating to observe, and to feast from.”

“There’ve been others?” Claudette whispered in horror.

“B-But then,” Dwight stuttered out in a voice filled with fright, “where’re they now?”

“They share an invisible bond,” their captor resumed without acknowledging the leader’s question, “one possessing such strength that even a being such as I cannot sever it. Their history, their hate for one another, their desire to see the other dead, it runs deep within their veins, and is thicker than the finest blood.”

“Gross,” Meg idly muttered after the blood comment.

“So if you can’t sever their bond,” Laurie deduced, “then you can’t help.”

“I am unable to sever their connection entirely,” the Entity confirmed while flames danced methodically in the faint breeze. “However, what I am capable of is blocking it with a… blessing of sorts, a blessing which shall enact a special barrier between the two souls.”

“A generous proposal,” Jake commented lightly and in a suspicious tone.

“An offer like that usually comes with a price,” Ace supplied shortly after.

The Entity chuckled some, the noise eerie and unsettling, before claiming, “Indeed.”

David internally scoffed in annoyance and then, after watching the fiery-coloured mist for any dangerous moves, proceeded to venture closer to the lively campfire. He had a dreadful, sickening feeling in his gut about this but the alternative did not inspire cheerful thoughts.

Releasing an extended breath, he squinted at the vicious blaze and uttered, “Name yer price.”

“To receive my gracious gift,” the being cooed delightfully, “you must awaken the Dreamwalker from within the dreamworld. Do that, and I shall grant him my divine blessing.”

“‘at’s it?” he mumbled sceptically. He had expected something more, well, hefty of a price.

Feng strolled forward to stand beside him and asked another seemingly obvious question of, “And how’s he even supposed to get in there?”

The fire flared momentarily as the Entity asserted not to the gamer, but to him, “I will provide a means for you to enter my Nightmare’s prized world.”

“And…” he hesitated while gulping down a thick wad of phlegm caught in his windpipe. “Wha’ ‘appens if I can’t do it? If I can’t wake ‘im up?”

“Should you fail to awaken the Dreamwalker, should his heart cease to beat,” the Entity raddled off pleasantly, “or should you perish before rousing him, then I shall take him.”

“T-Take ‘im?”

“My price for this rare opportunity.”

Fearing her response, David squeaked out a quiet, “W-Wha’s ‘at mean, exactly?”

“It means I shall consume him,” their captor gleefully replied, “and what remains of his persisting soul until he is no more.”

A chorus of disheartened sounds and cries rang out from the entire group, some more broken than others. With this tidbit of news added onto their crushed hope of being denied departure from this hellhole, it all felt too great of a revelation to bear. Dwight and Nea actually puked from the declaration, and he was not far off himself.

Fuck, she was going to kill h—no, the despicable cunt was going to _devour_ Quentin like a savoury three-course dinner. Technically, they were always devoured when they were sacrificed in trials, but this was nothing like those countless times.

Despite the heavy weight his depressing thoughts carried, he forced his mind to focus on the positive, on saving Quentin from Krueger and, ultimately, securing nightmare-free and well-deserved rest for the boy. But, if he did indeed fail… No!

He was going to save Quentin once and for all. This ended _now!_

Mustering up the staggering courage within his mind and body, David murmured a quiet yet unwavering, “I’ll do it.”

“David no!” Nea screeched in terror, her voice sounding as though she had barely recovered from her recent upchuck. “Y-You can’t.”

He shook his head without looking back to acknowledge the tag artist, or anyone else, and then said, “Ya can’t stop me.”

“Then you’ll need backup to—”

“This opportunity extends only to my Rugged Scrapper,” the Entity harshly interrupted the elder. “ _No one else_.”

Figures, but then David had anticipated such an answer. It was his request after all.

“Mates,” he pivoted around to address his friends, “listen, I…”

God, how was he going to word this? Just let it out idiot, his mind bitched at him, his inner voice clearly fed up with everything going on. Feeling colossally unprepared, he begrudgingly supposed there was no time like the present to profess his innermost feelings.

“If ‘ere was ever anyone I’d sacrifice for,” David began again as everyone huddled in close to form yet another circle, “it’d be you guys. I-I know I’m not the friendliest guy ‘round, and I’d ‘ave neva been mithered ‘bout somethin’ like ‘is or anyone like you in the real world, but ‘is… place, it changes people.”

Coward, his mind whispered disapprovingly within the confines of his skull. He wanted to say people yet his lips voiced place instead, and he had not the bravery to correct himself.

A few deep breaths to gather his thoughts and a clothed wrist furiously scrubbing at his semi-puffy orbs later, and he continued by confessing, “I _want_ to do this. I have to! For Quentin, and for us. When we finally figure out a way outta ‘ere, I ain’t leavin’ ‘im behind.”

Dwight sniffled before smoothing down his shirt and drying his tears. Locking eyes with him, the leader then firmly uttered, “Neither will I.”

The tie-clad man extended his hand forward, palm facing the ground, and left it suspended in the air. David smiled approvingly at the gesture and followed suit, his palm reaching forth to cover the back of Dwight’s hand. The remaining members of their little survivor group quickly joined in, first with Laurie and ending with Ace.

“You just make sure you bring him back,” Claudette muttered steadily while her shimmering coffee-coloured orbs bored into his own.

Not entirely trusting his own voice, David merely nodded determinedly in response. He had no intention of fucking this up.

Retracting their hands from the centre, Bill coughed as a means of getting his attention and then advised, “Be careful son. You’ll be heading blindly into enemy territory.”

He nodded once more and uttered a brief, “I will.”

Nea quickly crowded close to him and pecked his cheek while Meg clung to his neck and whispered a teary, “M’sorry.”

“So am I lass,” he replied as he encircled both women with his strong arms, “so am I.”

One by one, each of his friends gave him some sort of positive encouragement: Laurie hugged him and offered her own short apology—similar to Meg; Dwight and Claudette both closed in for a tight hug while murmuring their worries into his eardrums, worries which he partially assuaged by returning their embrace; Jake and Ace gave respective claps to his shoulder which he shrugged out of in order to pull them in for a sideways, brotherly-like hug; and Feng kissed him on his cheek and punched his bicep lightly for extra emphasis.

Feeling empowered like never before, he spared one final glance at Quentin before confidently rotating around to face the mighty flame and proclaimed, “I accept yer offer.”

Instead of providing him with a verbal reply, more fiery mist erupted from the campfire, the abrupt flare causing everyone to stumble back in alarm. Then, as swift as lightning, the mist shot forward and surrounded his head. A drop in temperature followed by a searing pain exploded within his skull, the intense sensation driving him onto all fours as he shouted in sheer agony.

“David!” someone shrieked from behind him.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt! Fuck, did it ever hurt! His limbs trembled underneath his own weight while his mind became lost in a blinding fog. All noise was clustering together now, every rustle of dirt and every word of concern bleeding together to form a single sound. A deafening and dizzying sound which, coupled with whatever the Entity was doing to his head, finally caused him to collapse in a boneless heap on the ground.

Numerous blurs of colour invaded his tunneling vision as he felt an inhuman and forceful pull tugging at the back of his clouded mind. Suddenly exhausted and unable to fight off the fog enveloping his mind, David allowed his eyelids to slip shut while his consciousness was carried away into a black void.


	27. Burden My Heart | Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned!

Tiny, chilling pinpricks pelting his skin roused David from his unconscious state. Initially gathering his bearings proved to be quite a challenge given the thumping pain in his skull continuously distorting his already blurry surroundings. All he was truly able to register visually was white, the near blinding colour causing his orbs to water uncontrollably. Ignoring his pesky headache, he gave his head a firm shake to dispel the grogginess while also blinking away the tears rapidly pooling in his eyes. Only after the dizziness dissipated did he notice that the harsh whiteness was stemming from freshly fallen snow, the precipitation forming a blanket of flakes which layered the ground like vanilla icing decorating a cake.

David rotated his neck every which direction to find himself alone at the familiar survivor campfire area with the normally-forever-burning flames of the fire smothered out by the snowfall. Interesting. He had never once seen their mighty fire extinguished.

Taking another few moments to satisfy his growing intrigue, David extended his hand outward to watch several snowflakes land on his palm and immediately dampened his skin. It was an exquisite thing to witness even if the rare weather made him shiver slightly.

Was this the fabled dreamworld Quentin feared so greatly? It seemed so welcoming, so serene, so… real—from the frosty air nibbling at his nose to the snow crunching underneath his shoes.

Focus mate, his mind chastised while beating down the residual, thumping ache reverberating in his skull. Right, right. This was not the time to be distracted by the weather of all things.

“Quentin?” he hollered out, his voice echoing out into the distance.

No response. He tried again, though more loudly, but the same result arose.

Grumbling to himself, he brushed off the clumps of snow clinging wetly to his jacket and then proceeded through a random section of the treeline with purpose. Snow grinded dully beneath his feet as he pressed forward into the unknown. He claimed this area to be unknown as it was not the barely-lit forest he grew accustomed to roaming about. For instance, perhaps due to the peculiar weather, the woods were far more visible now thanks to the soft light peeking out from the grey overcast above. Additionally, there were no flowers or mushrooms in sight though, again, it might have something to do with the snowy weather killing them off or simply covering them up.

As he continued in a straight line, the trees began to cluster together rather than remain relatively spaced apart. It reminded him of a phenomenon Feng spoke of in one of the various video games she used to play in her downtime: tree trunks fusing together when they were planted too close to each other. What was that game called again? Vine shaft? Fine draft? No, Minecraft. He guessed something like this was possible in the real world too yet knowing that did not make it any less of a strange occurrence.

A change in bark texture became more prominent too as he trekked further in. What was once rich, dark autumn-coloured and coarse-looking bark gradually transitioned into flaking, dull brown-coloured bark. The horrid stench wafting off from the supposedly decaying, leafless trees was enough to make him gag, the smell reminiscent of the large tree in the farmland trial with dead pigs hanging from it. Maybe something died in the forest, besides the trees, because the scent just seemed too pungent to come from the trees alone. Gulping down a thick thump of warm bile rising in his esophagus, David raised his jacket sleeve to cover his nose and carried on with his quest to find Quentin. As enchanting as it was, the cold weather was starting to ice his balls.

Not long afterwards, the decaying plants carved the way towards Badham Preschool, or what he thought was the school. There existed no additional houses nearby nor crumbling roads looping around the wide building. Just the school itself, the structure standing tall in the wake of the snowfall.

The building itself was covered in fluffy flakes yet the precipitation did not mask the structure completely. As such, David witnessed for the first time a perfectly intact school with sturdy walls and clean windows, and pristine picket fences to complete the quaint aesthetic. Was this what the building truly looked like in real life? He certainly imagined a more sinister place, similar to the one he dealt with in trials, but definitely not something so harmless and plain-looking.

Muffled noises from within the preschool tore David from his thoughts. Screwing his eyes shut and straining his ear, he was almost positive that those noises were actually voices. Was it Quentin? Or perhaps Krueger? Either way, it was worth investigating.

With fists tightening in anticipation, David rolled his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness which accumulated there and then entered the school. Strolling down the hallway, he briefly glanced at the undamaged children’s paintings and bulletin boards littering the walls before coming to a fork in the corridor. He eyed the two newest corridors with interest until a series of noises diverted his attention to the right. Creeping slowly towards the sound of the voices, which were now undeniably two separate voices, David stopped himself in front of one of the closed classroom doors and pressed his ear against it.

“Now,” David heard what sounded like Krueger say, “how ‘bout we have some more  _fun_  before naptime, hmm? Getcha all nice and tired? What d’ya say?”

Son of a bitch! Without a second of hesitation, David body-checked his shoulder into the locked door and burst into the classroom. His blazing eyes instantly sought out The Nightmare, the man currently gawking at him in surprise while straddling Quentin on the floor. As quick as the click of a button, David savagely ripped the bastard off of the younger male, slammed Krueger onto his back, and started beating the utter crap out of the man. Punch after punch after punch was administered, the resulting sickening crunches and wet squelches being extremely gratifying to hear. His fists quickly turned bloody as he continued to dispense his righteous justice until his breathing grew labored and the body beneath him fell still.

“Told ya,” he spoke breathlessly between pants with the biggest smile stretching across his face, “I’d lamp ya dirty.”

Kicking the unconscious, battered body triumphantly, David speedily raced back to aid Quentin.

“Don’t worry love,” he informed the panicked boy while trying to pick him up, “I gotch—Wha’ the ‘ell?”

David noted belatedly that Quentin was secured to the carpet by thick, sky-blue threads. Muttering a short curse under his breath, he tugged uselessly at the bindings for a hot second. All the while, Quentin was furiously shaking his head and mouthing words at him without actually voicing them. Something had to be wrong.

He paused briefly to stare at the teen while perplexedly asking, “Wha’s wrong? Wha’re you tryin’ ta say?”

Again Quentin attempted to speak to him yet no sounds were vocalized. Instead David focused on the teenager’s distressed mouth. While most of the lip motions were lost to him, David was able to decipher two words with crystal clarity: wake up.

“Ta ‘ell with ‘at!” he responded in outrage and then cupped Quentin’s damp cheeks between his palms. “Yer the one who’s gotta wake up n—Agh!”

He had but a second to observe electrical wires—fortunately unpowered by the looks of it—tangle around his wrists, their grip painfully tight, before being violently yanked backwards and then eventually upwards to be suspended from the ceiling in the shape of the letter ‘Y’.

“Well now, it appears we have a guest,” Krueger spoke while invading his field of vision. David critically scanned the man for injuries only to find none. Why? Did the damage heal, and so soon? “Isn’t this just _wonderful_.”

Right, Quentin mentioned before that the bastard was unable to be hurt or killed in the dreamworld. Why the fuck did he allow himself to forget that little detail? Your temper, his brain quietly responded a moment later.

The Nightmare approached him, the man sporting an overly pleased grin, and forcefully pinched his chin between two fingers before breathing out a sensual, “Welcome to my nightmare.”

“Let ‘im go!” David immediately demanded after shrugging out of the bastard’s hold on him.

“Hmm… I’d rather not. We were just about to enjoy a playdate together. Right Quen?” Krueger addressed the bound and struggling teen on the floor.

Quentin appeared to be hurling silent curse words at the dream demon, something David respected the hell out of the boy for. The guy was one hell of a fighter, no matter the odds.

“Although,” The Nightmare resumed with an enthused tone, “now that you’re here, I think it can be postponed for a little while.”

Cocking a suspicious eyebrow at the man, David muttered, “Ya ain’t surprised at me bein’ ‘ere?”

“Should I be?” Leaning in dangerously close to his face, rancid breath fanned at his cheek while Krueger questioned with a whisper, “Do you have a secret you wish to share with the class David?”

“Fuck you!” he abruptly spat while trying to headbutt and kick out at the smirking bloke.

“Tempting,” The Nightmare replied cheekily as he suggestively trailed his miscoloured eyes up and down David’s body. “But there’s something else I’d much rather do with you.”

“Ya gonna stop actin’ like a worthless cunt ‘n’ fight me like a man?” he inquired all too smugly, and the look of annoyance he received in return was well worth the jab. “Oh right, I forgot. Hidin’ in people’s dreams is lot easier innit? ‘Cause ya’d lose otherwise.”

Quentin smacked his skull against the carpet before rolling his eyes and noiselessly chuckling. His words were meant to be serious yet the teenager’s reaction had David smiling happily all the same. Apparently Krueger too noticed the reaction which caused his ugly scowl to deepen. Mere moments later, however, the man started to cackle lowly, the noise highly offensive to his eardrums.

“You and that smart mouth of yours. Always getting you into trouble, just like how you always think with your fists,” Krueger remarked with an evil smile, teeth glinting ominously from the white light reflected through the frosted windows.

Then the dream demon moved to stand over Quentin, his fedora-clad head cocking to the side before Krueger kneeled down beside the bound boy.

“But, as we both know,” The Nightmare stated while shooting a disgusting wink in David’s direction, “naughty boys never learn.”

Krueger allowed his blades to slide against each other while eyeing Quentin curiously, the steel grinding together in an ear-piercing fashion before the man confidently uttered, “Even so, with diligent education, I believe even the rowdiest of children can learn something… meaningful. With the right lesson of course. All it needs is the proper... _delivery_.”

“Deliv—Oi!” David shouted when Krueger swiftly removed Quentin’s belt. “Get yer fuckin’ ‘ands offa ‘im!”

Thankfully the man did not go any further than the belt, a small miracle which drew out a relieved sigh from David. Instead Krueger wrapped the buckle end of the belt around his ungloved hand and rounded behind his suspended form. David attempted to track the bastard with his eyes but he simply was incapable of seeing his backside from this awkward angle. The sound of clothes being shredded accompanied by the feeling of cool air hitting his back had David growling warningly.

“Wha’ the ‘ell’re ya—” A loud smack connecting with his newly exposed skin gave him pause, the unexpected assault driving a muted grunt through clenched teeth.

The guy was whipping him with Quentin’s belt? Pathetic.

Several blows rained down upon his backside—the sharp sounds bouncing off the classroom walls—all of which David endured with a tightly gritted, cocky smirk. At best, the dull smacks were going to give him faint bruises and nothing more. Shifting his gaze to Quentin, he offered the boy a tense nod to assuage the worry etched on the other male’s face. The teen, however, did not look terribly comforted by the gesture yet Quentin seemed to stifle his staggering tears nonetheless.

Feeling stupidly self-confident, David released a boisterous laugh and asked, “Is ‘at all ya got? My grandmother could do betta.”

“Oh good,” Krueger sighed out with unusual relief, “we’re on the same page.”

Same page? What the fuck was the bloke on about? Cranking his neck backward as much as his electrical restraints allowed, David fired off a confused, “D’ya ever make sen—GAH!”

Okay, that one bloody hurt! As opposed to the previous dull, leathery smacks, that latest strike was sharper and bit deeper down. Fuck! It was as if his flesh had been ripped apart at the seams and then doused in corrosive acid. He could literally feel his wounds bubbling like a small cube of butter sizzling and melting away in a frying pan.

“That’s better,” Krueger commented with a proud tone before resuming his ministrations.

Every new hit brought with it the same burning and stinging sensation, and each one seemingly more agonizing than the last. David tried stifling his cries, dug his teeth into his lip for added measure, but with no success. No beating he had braved in the past equated to the pain he was experiencing now. A particularly unforgiving strike to his mid-spine jarred several tears loose, the droplets tracing his cheekbones before descending soundlessly to the floor.

In an attempt to distract himself from his torture, David set his sights on Quentin only for his heart to rapidly plummet at the presence of fresh tear tracks staining the boy’s distraught face, and he loathed those tears—the sadness they brought the both of them.

Christ, this was not how things were supposed to go… and it did not have to go on like this either. He needed to quit focusing on the arse bleeding him and concentrate on waking up the teenager in front of him.

“Don’t cr—Fuck!” he swore loudly as he attempted to reign in his erratic breathing. “Doncha worry ‘bout me—AH! Ah… m’fine love. Nothin’ ta—Gah! You just need ta wake up, wake—Ah!”

There was a temporary lull in his ‘punishment’ shortly afterwards, something which David was immensely grateful for even though he would never admit it aloud. He felt every painstaking little detail in full force: the pained breaths exiting his convulsing lungs; the lingering bodily shakes dying down alongside the remainder of adrenaline within his system; the blood dribbling down his back in rivets; the stinging sensation radiating throughout his entire backside as his injuries registered completely; and the abnormal defeat he felt from underestimating his opponent.

For a scrawny gardener, the guy was quite the crafty and twisted little fucker.

He straightened his slumping posture and hardened his expression when Krueger passed by his peripheral vision. Even though his nausea and dizziness were crashing over him in waves, now was assuredly not the time to show any traces of weakness to this monster. The Nightmare observed him for a second before turning to glance at Quentin, and then the movement was repeated for a second time. Calculating eyes and a mild frown told him that Krueger was probably not basking in his handiwork. What was it then? Had the man hoped for a different reaction?

The Nightmare oriented his head downward with shoulders shaking subtly. An odd display, one which David had difficulty placing, until the man started to laugh, low initially but then gradually elevating into full-blown, unhinged cackling.

Not one to tolerate an insult—or what he guessed to be one—from any worthless knob, David clicked his tongue in irritation and spat, “Shut the ‘ell up! This ain’t funny!”

“You’re right,” Krueger agreed once his laughter finally diminished and with eyes boring sinisterly into David’s own. “It’s perfect... absolutely _perfect_.” Pressing his knifed hand to his chest, The Nightmare gave David a slight bow of the head and said, “I’ve been such a terrible host. What with this being your first visit to my world, you deserve a little… treat, a special show of sorts.”

A special show? David internally shuddered at the thought alone. With a saucy look, the dream demon snapped his fingers and suddenly Quentin’s bindings dissolved into powder—the powder being multicoloured chalk from the looks of it. This world was way too weird to follow.

“Freddy that’s enough!” David heard Quentin growl out as the boy hastily rose to his feet. Evidently the teen was able to speak again which, despite being minor, was another blessed relief. “Please, just let him wa—”

The bastard in question interrupted the furious, frantic boy by crowding into his personal space to whisper softly in his ear.

Neck hairs raising in revulsion, David uttered a snappy, “Get away from ‘im!”

Krueger was speaking too quietly for him to catch any of the words, but everything the man said was spoken with an all-too-wide smirk which never boded well. Although, David’s primary focus was on Quentin. He fearfully watched the boy’s expression go from guarded and angered to pale and mortified in a matter of seconds.

“No...” Quentin whispered in disbelief as he separated himself from Krueger, “no, no, no, please. N-Not that. Anything but _that_. Not with him here… watching.”

The Nightmare sighed with obvious sarcasm and stated, “You’re not acting very hospitable to our gues—”

“Fuck off!” Quentin abruptly screeched, his face developing a brief angry flush. “Haven’t you done enough? Just… just let him wake up.”

Krueger hummed quietly to himself for a second before murmuring a gentle, “Alright Quen.”

“ _GAH!_ ” David howled thunderously at the ceiling when pain erupted from his lower leg.

“NO!” Quentin shouted in horror. “STOP IT!”

Through new tears and pained gasps, he dipped his head down to discover that a thick thread from the carpet underfoot had pierced straight through one end of his pantleg and out the other. Despite thread normally being flimsy, the damn thing effortlessly wove through his flesh, through his _fucking bone_ too by the feel of it. Bloody hell it hurt so fucking much! Black spots danced across his vision for a time before slowly diminishing altogether. This excruciating pain was akin to getting caught in one of The Trapper’s beartraps, and yet it felt infinitely more horrendous.

“Picky, picky,” Krueger chided half-heartedly to the boy. “There really is no pleasing you, is there?”

David was in far too much agony to keep up with the remainder of their bantering. The thread gave a tiny pull outward—as a means of straightening itself out perhaps—and then shot clean through a different section of his leg, the action ripping yet another agonized scream from his raw throat.

“WAIT!” Quentin desperately spoke, his voice barely audible over David’s own. “No more!”

His consciousness wavered as the excruciating pain ricocheted all throughout his leg. The thread hovered threateningly close to a third, unpunctured section of his shin yet remained frozen in place. Thank fucking Christ.

“Please, please don’t,” he blearily listened to Quentin plead gently, but David did not possess the strength to lift his head to look. “I… I’ll do it, o-okay. Whatever you want. So, p-please… stop. D-Don’t hurt him anymore.”

God the boy sounded to be on the verge of a breakdown—assuming the other was not already experiencing one. And what exactly did Quentin mean by ‘whatever you want’? Or, wait, was that precisely what the teenager said? He was unable to recall correctly given how the pain was screwing with his senses.

Speaking of the pain, it forced his watery orbs to droop shut as the world faded to the back of his traumatized mind. He just needed a minute, just a minute to collect himself, and then David would show this bastard a grand t—No, no, fuck this bloke! His only priority should be awakening Quentin from this nightmarish hellscape. He could not afford to be distracted by his temper or his overwhelming urge to lamp the sick fuck into the floor. All he needed... was one measly minute.

“Oh David,” a raspy yet sensual voice rang distantly in his eardrums, “David.”

Whoever was calling out to him sure seemed insistent. Why was someone calling for him again? Just a few more min—

“DAVID!”

A sharp pain from his leg had his orbs flying open, the action immediately followed by an exhausted shout. Panting momentarily, David surveyed the vicinity to-and-fro before his sluggish eyes landed on Krueger and Quentin. Right, he was in the dreamworld and—

Focusing hard, the mere sight of the two men forced a vicious snarl from his gritted teeth and caused his blood to boil instantaneously. In the centre of the room sat both males with Quentin, without a stitch of clothing on him, on top of Krueger’s lap facing his direction. The boy’s hands appeared to be pulled behind his back—or maybe tied in place—while the sick bastard ran his hands all over Quentin’s scarred torso.

Pushing his intense agony to side, David belted out an enraged, “DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ TOUCH ‘IM! D’YA ‘EAR ME! Y’BLOODY CUN—”

The rest of his words were cut off by the presence of something sticky sealing his mouth shut. He thrashed his head wildly from side-to-side, but the foreign sealant refused to dislodge itself. What was this shite?

“Nice of you to join us,” The Nightmare addressed him while pinching a rosy nipple between his raunchy fingers. “What kind of a gracious host would I be if I let you miss the show?”

Show? Oh fucking Christ… the bastard was not referring to what he thought Krueger was referring to.

David yelled both sorrowfully and threateningly into the gag, his body thrashing as much as his injuries allowed.

“Now, now,” The Nightmare calmly scolded, “be patient. I know you’ll enjoy this.”

With that, Krueger began molesting Quentin in earnest: blunt teeth nibbling at the skin where the boy's neck curved; fingers attacking pert buds relentlessly; and steel tips dragging lightly along every dint of musculature they could find. Quentin on the other hand seemed oddly resigned to his fate, the boy looking as though he was merely trying to tune it all out. David did not blame him in the slightest.

Wanting to grant the teenager some dignity, he averted his orbs to the window to gaze sadly at the snowfall delicately covering the schoolground. The whimpers and moans across the room were especially difficult to block out though. In any other situation, he might enjoy hearing those beautiful noises for himself, but not like this. Never like this!

“AH!” Quentin suddenly cried out, the shout forcing David to whip his head back towards the pair.

Krueger grinned at David while his claws sat shallowly in Quentin’s stomach, the man swivelling his blades a bit before pulling them free. “You shouldn’t daydream in class. It’s very rude.”

This fucking guy. So he had no choice but to watch otherwise Quentin was apparently going to be hurt. He begrudgingly obliged although, instead of observing the flushed and breathless boy, his sights tunneled solely on Krueger. Narrowing his eyes, he venomously glared at the killer with all his might while forcing every ounce of his burning hatred to display vividly in his unwavering gaze.

Hearing the boy begin to pant uncontrollably, David watched as Quentin abruptly gasped. The boy's body arched at a strange angle as Quentin succumbed to his pleasure while his essence splashed onto his sliced chest and the carpet below.

The dream demon chuckled heartily and commented, “Already? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

David felt incredibly ill listening to the man boast, the nauseous bubbling of his stomach acid twisting his gut into a literal pretzel.

“My little masochist loves it rough,” Krueger whispered fondly to the boy in his lap and then proceeded to lick at Quentin’s flushed cheek.

“No,” Quentin whined in response, an uncomfortable frown tugging the corners of his lips downward as he attempted to move away from the unwanted tongue inching closer to his mouth.

When the arsehole started to teasingly stroke the boy’s upper thighs, David screamed and bucked like mad to get the monster’s attention. No way in hell was he about to allow this to continue. If that bastard wanted to hurt anyone, then he would willingly accept whatever the man could dish out. Anything to spare Quentin from further pain and humiliation. Additionally, in doing so, it might grant him more time to discover a sufficient means of awakening the poor boy before Krueger grew bored of them.

“So eager,” The Nightmare said to David as he grazed his fingertips along the edge of Quentin’s spent member, the surely oversensitive organ giving a weak, pitiful twitch in response. “If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask.”

Join in? Fuck that rubbish! Was this arse mistaking him for a pervert? A fucking _rapist_ like him?!

In an instant, the electrical wiring around his wrists vanished which caused him to fall flat on his injured back. David sucked in a shaky breath from the impact and promptly cringed at the feel of the carpet scraping against his open wounds. Powering through the pain again, he made to sit up only to yelp in agony. More obnoxious dark spots momentarily flitted through his field of vision as his right leg pulsated in unison with the beat of his heart.

He had zero time to attempt a second try as his limbs were forcibly yanked apart in a star-like pattern and secured amongst the threads of the carpet—the peculiar binds akin to the ones Quentin previously had. It was almost like he was some kind of decorative attachment sewn into a basket.

David let out a muffled grunt in surprise as a sudden weight materialized on his upper thighs. Peering downward, he discovered the mystery weight to be none other than Quentin, his mop of brunette curls dishevelled and slick with perspiration. Bastard probably threw the boy on top of him, his brain quickly deduced.

“A front row seat has its benefits,” Krueger idly remarked while slowly unzipping his pants, “but a hands-on demonstration really gets the lesson to _stick_.” Plastering himself to Quentin’s backside, Krueger carded his fingers through the teen’s hair and sweetly cooed, “Don’t be shy angelfish. I know you want to.”

“P-P-Please n-no,” Quentin breathed out softly, the boy on the brink of breaking yet somehow managing to keep his crumbling composure in check. “I-I can’t…”

Oh fucking hell. What was the mad bastard forcing Quentin into doing now?

The agonizing sensation of blades swiftly plunging in and out of his left shin had him screaming hoarsely into his gag.

“Freddy don—”

“Are you _really_ sure you don’t wanna help out your friend Quen?” The Nightmare questioned with disgusting delight as the man petted the boy’s scalp affectionately.

David did not care how but, one way or another, he was going to kill this pathetic wanker.

As Krueger prepared for another strike, Quentin muttered a speedy and miserable, “I-I wanna help.”

“That’s my good boy,” the man praised the teen with a tender pat to his head, “always so thoughtful of others.”

With a worried glance downward, he watched Quentin very hesitantly pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down.

No! No, no, no! Not that! Panicked and outraged, David started bucking his hips away from the younger male—despite the awful pain it caused—while begging Quentin through his sticky gag not to go along with this. The dream demon was clearly displeased with his behaviour, and he soon found his hips and upper thighs tightly threaded into the carpet beneath him not long after. Now only his head remained mobile.

Quentin took note of his wordless pleas, and hopefully saw his penetrating and probably vulnerable gaze, and responded with a fatigued sounding, “I can’t… I can’t let him hurt you anymore. I-I’m so, so sorry. Please… d-don’t hate me f-for this.”

Idiot! Fucking self-sacrificing idiot! _This will hurt me!_ Perhaps even more so than in a physical sense.

Despite his persistent cries, Quentin pressed forward, the boy fishing out his limp dick from the confines of his jeans and boxers. With another heartfelt apology, the teenager gave his organ an experimental lick or two, the sensation pushing a strangled moan up from the depths of his throat. Damn, that felt far too good.

“Talented isn’t he?” Krueger smugly commented in response to his reaction while hovering uncomfortably close behind Quentin.

Did this guy ever shut his trap? Christ!

A few more tentative licks to his cock had David sighing in undesired pleasure. How long had it been since he indulged in such things? Besides the occasional tug of the rod, he had not experienced sex with another person since before the Entity had dragged him here. As such, even those feather-like flicks from Quentin’s tongue provided plenty of stimulation to inflate his member.

This was so sick. Christ, who was raping who here? Was Quentin taking advantage of him or was he reaping the advantages from Quentin? David had to remind himself that this was not Quentin’s fault. The boy was trying to help him by choosing the lesser of two evils: giving him a blow job versus watching threads being woven through him like a thin piece of cloth.

Still, he had never shagged up with someone quite as young as Quentin. For fuck’s sake, the kid was not even legal!

The sobbing teenager paused his ministrations to bite back a whimper, his hips wiggling slightly as his teeth sank into his bottom lip. Now what? Straining his neck to the side, David received a partially obscured glimpse of Krueger doing something with his ungloved hand. He raised a suspicious eyebrow, but another whimper from the flustered teen, this one definitely indicating pleasure, answered his silent question. The sick bastard was fingering Quentin and… oh no. Quentin was going to be raped right on top of him? No!

“Keep going angelfish,” The Nightmare implored when David began to voice his distress. “Our guest is starting to get impatient.”

No, please no! It took another warning for Quentin to resume his task, the teen slipping the smooth head of David’s member passed his quivering lips. Moments later, Quentin yelped around the flesh within his mouth as Krueger apparently decided to sink his, no doubt barbequed dick, into the poor boy which caused David to internally howl in sheer anguish.

Goddammit! He was supposed to protect the boy, not condemn him to something like _this!_

The faint graze of teeth to his member had David stiffening but, thankfully, the sensation quickly disappeared though maybe he deserved to have his dick bitten off. Relaxing his posture, he shot a furious glare towards their nightmarish captor tenderly grasping Quentin’s hips as the man gently rocked back and forth. David half expected Krueger to plough harshly into the boy, be overly aggressive and smug about it, but instead the man merely maintained a slow and steady pace. Like a diligent lover, his mind supplied which invoked a violent shiver of disgust that raked throughout his whole body.

And Quentin had to suffer through this kind of shite all the time? Now marginally understanding how things worked in the dreamworld, he knew no greater hell than this place—not even the Entity’s world could rival it.

He had to save the boy from all of this. He had to wake Quentin up!

The attention to his cock forced a couple of unexpected groans out of him. That tongue, that surprisingly sinful tongue, was alternating between coiling around his mushroom head and lapping at the tip of it. All the while, the warm wetness of the boy’s mouth and the vibrations—from the tiny moans and gasps Quentin was vocalizing around his dick—did not aid his resolve either. Before he had a remote chance of stopping it, his cock had rose to full mast, the heated flesh now leaking and awaiting a gratifying release.

Quentin retracted the stiff member in his mouth, a bead of saliva and cum hanging from his partially slack lip as he muttered a shaky, “F-F-Freddy, th-that—”

“Shh,” the dream demon cooed softly, “you’re doing so well angelfish, but don’t ignore your friend.”

With an extended whine, Quentin began sucking at his cock once more. The boy stuck to simply taking in the head of his member and stroking his palm down the rest of his veiny, thick shaft. God the sensations afflicting his dick were far too pleasurable. He had prided himself on possessing a fair bit of stamina yet, somehow, he was coming undone in a matter of minutes. It really had been a long time.

Denying his mounting nausea to the bitter end, David attempted to distance himself from the situation at hand by retreating into his mind. He thought of his friends, their warm smiles and crazy antics. He imaged gross things, like the stench of Krueger's foul breath, to starve his erection dead in its tracks. He recounted all of the different kinds of liquor he had consumed in his lifetime, the same method he utilized occasionally to quell his temper. Anything to prevent th—

Oh fuck, oh bloody hell. No, no, he had to… fuck, he was going to cum. There was no stopping it now. Goddammit, why?!

Mumbling a dispirited apology into his gag, David stilled as release hit him like a freight train, the intensity of his orgasm blinding him for a short moment. Probably shocked by the suddenness of his release, Quentin quickly pulled off of him only to receive a face-full of his seed. The erotic sight of his cum complimenting the boy’s dazed expression had his spent cock twitching with renewed interest. God, he was fucking sick! Why was he unable to control his dick?

Given his current predicament, Quentin likely had not the stamina nor the motivation to offer any significant response—whether angered or depressed. Instead, the boy merely curled his head into the crock of his inner thigh, his fingers digging into the folds of David’s jeans and his body rocking rhythmically while he moaned and sobbed. Those brunette curls coupled with breathy moans consistently tickled David's skin with each deep roll of The Nightmare’s hips. From his position, he was able to observe the wanker gently pulling out, the mangled shaft glistening with various bodily fluids, and slowly sinking back into the boy. He had to look away. Christ, he was going to puke any second now.

A few heavy breaths and mewls later, and Quentin was giving into his pleasure right alongside Krueger, the two males shouting and groaning respectively as they rode out their euphoric highs together.

David eyed Quentin sorrowfully as he witnessed the boy slowly regain his senses, the heart-wrenching display causing his lip to quiver when that realization finally set into those cesious-coloured eyes. How did things get so bad?

Once the bastard removed himself from Quentin, the boy collapsed against his thighs and abruptly vanished from existence. What the? Oh no, did Quentin… did he die? Had Krueger killed him without his knowledge?

“That was nice, wasn’t it David? A very _stimulating_ lesson, and I hope you’ll come back for another,” Krueger expressed excitedly with a snap of his fingers, the action causing whatever was sealing his mouth shut to melt away. A brief run of his tongue across his lips confirmed the mystery sealant to be glue—sparkle glue too. Gross. “I’m sure Quentin would enjoy a second playdate with you.”

Wait, that meant Quentin was not killed, right? He had to be sure.

“Where’s,” he began to rasp out tiredly, his voice painfully rough to hear, “where’s Quentin?”

“Gone… for now,” The Nightmare added mirthfully.

“As, as in awake,” David continued to probe, “or d-did you kill him?”

With a subtle narrowing of his miscoloured eyes, Krueger offered him a playful yet mildly suspicious, “He was a good boy for the class today. And good boys don’t need _extreme_ punishments. Unlike some other children I know…”

So then, Quentin did indeed wake up. He was okay, he was okay! But… not really.

David had succeeded in infiltrating the dreamworld yet he had failed to rouse the boy from his deathly slumber. This victory rested entirely on Quentin, and Quentin alone. If anything, David had only complicated matters by boldly barging into the place unaware and unprepared.

The revelation brought David to tears once more as he wept in utter despair. Christ, he was never going to be able to touch Quentin again, or much less look at him, without thinking of this. Fucking selfless idiot!

“Oh,” Krueger spoke in realization, “I almost forgot.”

The dream demon raised his ungloved hand as red liquid—paint from the smell of it though he was not completely certain—gathered in his palm to form a cylindrical shape with one skinny end and the other bulbous. As the object solidified and more distinctive features appeared, David felt his orbs involuntarily widen. It was a blood-red flashlight; this was not going to be pretty.

“One more quick lesson before the class ends,” the man declared before promptly ripping David’s jaw open and shoving the handle down his unsuspecting throat.

David gagged, his hands twitching frantically in their restrained positions as he choked on the grooved handle. Smirking wickedly, Krueger towered above him and savagely slammed his shoe into the headlamp, the force driving the handle impossibly deeper. Blackness entered from the edges of his vision as the flashlight handle tore into the inner lining of his esophagus. Resultantly, suffocating blood immediately blocked what little air he was able to intake and release.

When David thought his suffering to have reached its peak, The Nightmare drove his claws into his abused and stretched throat, the knifes easily slicing through weak tissues to grasp at the handle. With a brutal jerk of his wrist, Krueger effectively ripped the entire flashlight free from the puncture hole in his windpipe—from handle to headlamp. It, along with tiny fragments of glass still lodged in his throat from the busted headlamp, was the last excruciating sensation his mind was capable of registering before his eyelids fluttered closed and everything dissolved into oblivion.


	28. You Idiot

Quentin awoke with a start, body jolting semi-upright as he gasped like a fish fresh out of water. His overly wide eyes immediately spotted a couple of his friends crowding around him, some appearing concerned while the rest were relieved.

“H-He’s awake!” Dwight exclaimed in utter joy. “Guys, he did it!”

“Oh thank goodness,” Claudette breathed in relief, hand placed gently against her left breast.

“You okay son?” Bill asked tentatively while grinding one end of his cigarette between his molars—a nervous gesture perhaps.

Shifting a bit, he promptly winced from the stinging, throbbing pain radiating in his stomach and hindquarters. Ignoring the latter, he pulled up his blood-soaked T-shirt to note with gratitude that the injury had already been attended to. Fuck Freddy and his stupid claws. What he would not give to snatch those claws away from the dream demon and then shove them up the other’s ass.

He made to speak but a violent choking noise diverted his gaze to the right to find David, partially obstructed by Ace, laying beside him. The scrapper had his eyes closed, with moisture peeking out from the tightly pinched corners, while the man’s mouth formed a wide ‘O’. To an ordinary or uninformed person, it seemed as though David was gagging on the air. Yet he knew differently.

“David!” Quentin hastily spoke as he crawled closer to the other male. Shoving Ace aside, he roughly shook David’s shoulders as he frantically yelled, “David, please, wake up! _C’mon!_ Wake up dam—”

A jagged puncture hole suddenly materialized on the other’s throat, the wound spraying those nearby with fresh crimson. The gore had some of the girls screaming and a few of the guys gasping in horror. Quentin himself remained frozen, his eyes glued to the bleeding hole as the torn and bloodied skin appeared to dip into the puncture wound and then spring back out—similar to a water droplet falling into a pool of water, the droplet sinking down momentarily before splashing back upward—before being concealed by dainty hands.

“No,” he whimpered faintly, his hands joining Nea’s own to fruitlessly staunch the bleeding.

As to be suspected given the vast amount of blood and the location of the wound, David breathed out one last fleeting puff of air before his body ceased to convulse. The rest of the gang knew the brute’s demise was inevitable too given their lack of help beforehand.

Nea weakly began to sob, her hands shakily retracting from the scrapper and hovering in front of her, and someone—or more than one someone—was retching behind him from the sounds of it too. Honestly, he felt equally as sick, so much so where the thought of puking actually appealed to him. Quentin mindlessly observed a distraught Meg scooting closer to her girlfriend and then enveloping the blood-and-gore-splattered girl in her slightly trembling arms while mumbling a mostly reassuring, “H-He did it babe. David did it, he saved him.”

“What?” Quentin voiced softly in confusion.

Before receiving an answer, out of the treeline, the familiar fog rolled in to quickly collect the deceased David and leave equally as swiftly. The sight of the scrapper simply disappearing into thin air mildly disturbed Quentin though he supposed similar had happened to him countless times before. David may have perished, brutally so, but the scrapper would return. Nevertheless, he found himself staring at his bloody palms in utter misery, the weight of recent events ruthlessly carving up his insides—as if The Shape was stabbing his kitchen knife into him. He tried his damnedest to protect David by participating in Freddy’s deplorable ‘lesson’, hoping for a sheer miracle yet knowing full well how absolutely fucked they both were. No words existed to describe the level of disgust he felt over the grotesque actions he committed. Regardless, he prayed with all his willpower that David was capable of forgiving him. God… he could still taste it and, if he was not mistaken, he could almost feel liquid seeping from his a—No! He did not want to focus on _that_.

Meg’s previous words to Nea had Quentin abruptly branching away from his depressing train of thought. The runner’s comment suggested that she, or possibly all of the survivors, knew of David’s predicament. How the hell did David even enter the dreamworld anyways? Oh god… was Freddy’s reach increasing? Was he finally able to invade everyone else’s dreams too? Given the dream demon’s reaction to David’s sudden presence in his world, he doubted this to be the case yet all the evidence pointed to it.

He needed to know more. He wanted to believe that this incident was nothing more than a random fluke and that no one else would ever be subjected to the horrors of Freddy’s eternal nightmare.

“What did you mean,” he addressed Meg with an unintentional whisper, “about David?”

Ace rested a careful hand on his shoulder and stated, “He saved you kid.”

Instantly flinching away from the touch, Quentin viciously glowered at the gambler while voicing a particularly hostile, “You knew he was in the dreamworld?”

“We knew,” Jake calmly responded, the man standing off to the left while observing his reaction with caution and some other hidden emotion.

“And you didn’t wake h—”

“Okay okay, look,” Feng interjected before a verbal fight ensued, the gamer crouching in front of him likely to garner his full attention. “The Entity appeared to us after David, umm,” she hesitated to say, a finger taking up residence against her lip to emphasize her thoughtful expression, “well… after he swore at the sky.”

“Wait, what?” The Entity, as in _the_ Entity, appeared to them? And why would swearing warrant a visit from their captor?

“It-It’s true Quentin,” Dwight reinforced adamantly though a subtle undertone of fear was present in his voice as well.

“She spoke to us using the campfire and with this, like,” Feng paused, the female probably attempting to find the appropriate word, “flaming smoke?”

“Fire-coloured mist,” Jake uttered smoothly as a means of possibly correcting the gamer or to offer better information. Which, by what Quentin gathered thus far, meant it was similar to fog yet possessed vibrant flame-like colours?

“Fine, ‘fire-coloured mist’ or whatever,” Meg chimed in snappily, while still embracing Nea, before grumbling out, “and then the bitch told us we couldn’t leave, gave us names, and then offered David the option of saving you.”

“Huh?” Let it be said that Meg held the record for being the worst at giving explanations. When the runner made to add further details, Quentin hurriedly raised a hand and lightly demanded, “Clear explanation please.”

Laurie was the one to step forward and somberly state, “David was… upset over seeing you suffer in your sleep, so he vented at the sky. Shortly after, there was a loud bout of thunder and then fog flooded in from the shadows and threw itself into the campfire. Quen, I… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… I tried, but I couldn’t wake you up.”

While Jake comforted the babysitter, whom had started to silently cry, Ace carried on with, “The fire spoke to us in a sultry feminine voice and claimed it was the Entity.” The gambler took a second to fiddle with his jacket sleeve before adding, “Our captor, ever the mysterious goddess, told us she had no intention of letting us go and that we all served a purpose in her world.”

Suspicion overtaking his confusion, Quentin uttered a wary, “What purpose?”

“She didn’t say,” Jake informed rather pensively, “though we didn’t have the luxury of asking.”

“Anyways,” Laurie took over once more after skillfully composing herself, “the Entity then addressed us by titles of some sort, each seeming to allude to our personalities or skills.”

“Yours is ‘Resolute Dreamwalker’ by the way,” Feng muttered with a smile which did not completely reach her still glistening orbs.

“After that,” the babysitter resumed without allowing the interruption to deter her, “she talked about the bond you share with The Nightmare, how it was possible to block him from getting to you, and then offered David the opportunity to enter the dreamworld and save you. If he could, she’d give you some kind of blessing to protect you from Freddy. If he couldn’t…”

“If he couldn’t?” Quentin reiterated with a sliver of fear lining his voice. And why David?

“That’s irrelevant now,” Jake firmly assured, the saboteur’s tone leaving no opportunity to press for further information.

“Still, I… wait, David agreed to this deal?” he questioned incredulously. “ _Willingly?_ ”

“He sure did cutie,” Nea happily replied, the young woman finally retracting herself from Meg to wipe at the undersides of her puffy, red eyes.

Why that fucking idiot!

A moment later, the rustling of leaves and branches had him turning to see a breathless David emerge from the treeline. Upon making eye contact with him, the scrapper offered him a wide heartfelt smile with sparkling hazel-green orbs to boot, something which was sure to make some people gush, but Quentin felt nothing but fury rushing through his veins. Did David really not understand the seriousness of all this?

“Quen,” David panted out as he jogged closer, and only after working his way through several hugs from select others, “Yer—”

“You fucking idiot!” Quentin abruptly roared as he stiffly maneuvered himself to his feet.

Clearly not expecting his sudden outburst, the scrapper uttered a puzzled, “Wha’?”

“Quentin,” Claudette whispered in worry, her hand reaching out to touch him—probably as a way of comforting him—while everyone else stared at him in surprise.

Her faint touch grazed his forearm, the feather-light sensation from skin-to-skin contact acting as a painful reminder of his latest nightmare. Reeling sideways with lightning speed, he shot a dangerous glare towards the botanist and hissed out a cruel, “Don’t touch me.”

“What the fuck’s your pr—” Meg was rudely interrupted by the jab of an elbow connecting with her ribs. The culprit of said blow, Nea, gave the runner a disapproving look accompanied with a shake of her beanie-clad head.

The rest of the group looked as though they wanted to add their own input too but, thankfully, they remained silent and merely waited with baited breath for whatever may unfold. Perhaps they were hungry for answers or something, anything to explain this randomness.

Ignoring the others temporarily, Quentin moved to stand a calculated distance away from his friends before continuing to express his furious opinions to David.

“Why would d—No, how could you do that? D’you have _any_ fucking idea what Freddy could’ve done to you?”

“I ‘andled it,” the scrapper stressed though his composure seemed to be waning.

“No you didn’t,” Quentin argued, “he fucking caught you! God, don’t you remember what I said about Freddy? About the dreamworld?”

“Not at first,” the brute slowly vocalized, “but—”

“For fuck’s sake, he threaded a part of a _rug_ through your leg. _A rug!_ ”

“Ya, ‘at one ‘urt,” David admitted softly while awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. “But it worked out. Yer out and so am I.”

“Oh, really?” he exaggeratedly spoke. “How d’you know this was a one-time thing huh? How d’you know you won’t wake up in the dreamworld again?”

“Well…” the scrapper hesitated to answer, “I just figured it was.”

“God, you’re… fuck, you’re an _idiot!_ ”

“I was tryin’ ta save yer arse!”

Quentin began to lightly giggle at that, the noises gradually gaining volume while everyone eyed him strangely. He knew how he must look, like a psycho or someone whom had flown off the rails. “Save me… save me from what?” he asked almost hysterically. “Freddy’s already taken away _everything_ from me. He’s killed me, he's killed my friends, he’s tortured me, he’s raped me—”

“Stop ‘at!” David shouted angrily, the man looking increasingly disturbed.

“—and y’know what? I don’t give a fuck anymore!” he declared with arms thrown aimlessly up into the air. “I’ve fucking had it!”

David rigidly approached him, the man clenching his fists firmly as the scrapper stood mere inches apart from him. “Shut yer mouth!”

“Why?” he spat with an out-of-place grin. Despite his close proximity to the scrapper, he refused to cower away from what he knew to be the truth. “You can’t save me, okay. Just get that through your head already!”

“’at’s ‘is words,” David disputed as his face took on a red hue, “not yers!”

“And he _did_ save you!” Feng emphasized while looking moderately uncomfortable.

“I, umm, no… no,” David stammered out a touch miserably, “I-I actually didn’t. Quen did ‘at on ‘is own.”

“What d’you mean?” Meg asked almost impatiently. Judging from their expressions, the runner apparently was not the only one interested in the answer.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Quentin seethed in warning while shaking a threatening finger at David. He knew exactly what that answer would include, and there was no way he was going to allow anyone else to know about what he was forced… what he _had_ to do.

“Look, I chose this alright. Instead of giving up, I chose to fight Freddy,” he expressed strongly without tears. “I chose to defend the only friend I had left… and so I chose to handle everything Freddy could do to me.” Chuckling lowly, he shrugged for no real reason and then said, “But who fucking cares anymore, right?”

What was the point of caring anyways? Here he was being held against his will in this horrendous place, and now likely confirmed for eternity, with his worst nemesis.

His nightmare would never end.

“I should’ve just died in the real world,” Quentin murmured ever so quietly to himself, a declaration which David evidently heard by the devastated look forming on his face.

Before anyone else was able to get another word in, their campfire suddenly expanded, the flames curving and spiralling around the centre of the blaze before shooting upward. The dramatic, flashy display was quite fascinating, and a touch intimidating at the same time, to observe. In between the arcing flames hovering above the primary blaze, a fiery mist appeared and started to form a sphere. Once the sphere looked relatively solid-like, the wispy air shot forth towards him.

Quentin shielded himself from the incoming blow, his arms coming up to form a cross to protect his face. When no pain registered, he cautiously cracked his orbs open to discover the peculiar mist encircling his medallion, the tiny circle floating in the air in front of him. Cupping the air around his treasured trinket, he watched in awe as the mist completely concealed the medallion and started to glow, the spike in brightness causing him to avert his eyes. Nearly ten or so seconds later, the vibrant glow receded and then the mist dispersed into nothingness.

“W-What just happened?” Dwight nervously asked.

Gripping his necklace, Quentin eyed his medallion for the briefest of seconds before noticing several sets of eyes directed at him. The owners of said sets of eyes probably had a million questions to voice but, once their intrigue was satisfied, a bombardment of worried and potentially comforting comments was sure to follow.

Not wanting to face the crowd any longer, Quentin gave the others a menacing look, as if daring them to follow him, coupled with a verbal, “Don’t follow me.”

Without a shred of delay, he entered into the forest, the trees silently staring him down no matter whichever direction he chose to veer off to. He needed space, he needed privacy but, above all, he needed to think.

“Hold up son,” Bill calmly announced from behind, the elder slowly strolling into view, “don’t run off too quickly.”

Goddammit; it had barely been three minutes and someone was already on his ass. Huffing irritably, Quentin made to march onward while offering the veteran a curt, “Leave me alone Bill.” He really did not want to deal with anyone right now.

“C’mon now,” the older male implored. “Yer not gonna force an old man to chase ya through the woods, are you?”

It was tempting to do so, really fucking tempting, but he knew Bill was persistent when he wanted to be. He had no doubt in his mind that the elder would do well by his half-assed little threat.

“I just wanna have a quick chat,” Bill explained while moving forward to stand by his side.

“Can’t we do this later?” Quentin grumbled out while doing nothing to disguise the irritation in his voice.

The veteran matched his grumble in response, his aged eyes clearly demonstrating that later was not an option.

“Fine,” Quentin reluctantly relented, “but I’ll only talk to you _if_ you stub out that cig. It’s rank.”

Complying with his proposed compromise, Bill flicked the cancerous stick away and urged him forward with a subtle nod of his head. Falling in step with the elder, Quentin followed the man through the sea of trees and fluorescent plants to the nearest pond. He was not thrilled with the choice in location, the scenery not sitting well with his stomach. But the sooner this was over, the better.

Lowering himself to sit against the base of a knobby and moss-covered tree, the veteran muttered out a gruff, “Take a seat.”

Releasing a short sigh, Quentin did so while ignoring the ache which shot through his butt and ensuring he was a reasonable distance away from the man. Bill cleared his throat and gazed out at the shimmering body of water distractedly.

“He raped you again,” the elder bluntly stated with a level voice.

Quentin immediately whipped his neck sideways to face the other male, his eyes surely as wide as saucers. How the hell did Bill know that? Keep it together, his mind subtly warned before his staring became apparent. Quickly schooling his expression to that of indifference, he refocused on the beautiful rippling water while saying, “I dunno what you’re ta—”

“Son, you can’t… I know the behaviour,” Bill admittedly gently before adding an even quieter, “all too well.”

Not desiring to partake in such a conversation, Quentin speedily rose to his feet and moved towards the darkest patch of forest he could spot. The elder could follow him to the ends of this world for all he cared. He was _not_ talking about this right now.

“I reckon I mentioned serving in the United States Army?” Quentin heard Bill inquire, the man seemingly not wasting his breath on pointlessly pleading for him to stay. Nevertheless, the question had him halting his strides. “You see lotta nutty things on the job. ‘Specially things like this.”

Quentin wanted to leave, craved so desperately to feel the light breeze brush along his unruly curls as he found some kind of a soundless sanctuary in the woods. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his legs refused to budge—as if they were a tree trunk firmly imbedded into the earth. Why did his body constantly betray him?

“I dunno what you’re going through personally,” the veteran stated for the record, “but there were a few comrades, even one on my platoon that experienced similar.”

“S-So what?” he mumbled a little shakily, his eyes seeking Bill from the corner of his peripheral vision. “What’s your point?”

“Point is yer startin’ to slip.”

“Slip?” Quentin repeated with confusion.

“What you said ‘bout not carin’ at the fire was prove enough.”

“Okay,” he voiced while completely turning to face the other, “what’re you talking about?”

Looking Quentin dead in the eye, Bill uttered a grave, “You’re defending it.”

Still entirely perplexed as to what the elder was referring to, he cocked an eyebrow and said, “Excuse me?”

“You’re defending the actions of your rapist,” the veteran clarified resolutely.

“Defend...” He pondered the other’s words carefully, the meaning becoming ever more explicit with every passing millisecond. “I’m not defending Freddy! I will _never_ defend anything that, that bastard’s done to m—”

“By not caring,” Bill simply explained, “you are.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I care or not!”

“The moment you stop caring is the moment you let that monster win. It’s the moment when you’ve given in to him,” the aged man supplied with abnormal sadness riddled in his voice, “in body… and mind.”

Currently at a loss for words, Quentin mumbled an unintellectual, “Uh…”

Gaze hardening, Bill essentially glared at him and then barked out, “You can’t give up.”

“I haven’t!”

The other scoffed, his frown highlighting his many wrinkles as Bill accused, “Sure as hell sounded like you had.”

Feeling the necessity to defend his actions, Quentin heatedly exclaimed, “Caring has nothing to do with giving up! And I need to do this so Freddy won’t do worse to the rest of you. Fuck, okay, _you_ weren’t there! You didn’t see what he did to David, what he made me do to…”

“And wha’d he make you do?”

Quentin merely shook his head firmly while gulping down a few thick lumps of bile rising up from his unsettled gut.

“I didn’t wanna do it,” he replied softly while not alluding to what ‘it’ was specifically, “but it was the best option I could see at the time. I couldn’t live with myself if Freddy had done anything worse to David. It’s bad enough with what he does in the trials. And when he hurt you and Nea, and t-tortured Dwight.”

He watched as Bill shook his head in supposed disappointment before the man tiredly asked, “When’re ya gonna let your comrades take some of the heat?”

“What?”

“You shared your pain with us,” the veteran carried on in earnest, “you entrusted us with the truth and you’re still obsessed with fighting your enemy alone.”

“‘Cause it’s better for everyone! One man sacrificing himself for his comrades,” Quentin boldly stated while folding his arms across his torso. “I think you of all people can relate to that.” He was well aware of the implications behind his comment, what old wounds might resurface for the elder, but he simply could not stop himself.

“I can,” Bill icily acknowledged in full agreement, “but things’re a little different here. And you constantly being hurt by the enemy really hurts… morale.”

God, what was with all this military jargon? “I know it’s bad but—”

“You had to know that we’d react badly to your situation. So why tell us?”

“It was for the lies, okay, I was tired of lying,” he professed with annoyance, “and I’d hoped that you guys would understand why I’ve been doing what I’ve been doing.”

“We understand,” the elder expressed with a patient nod, “but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna wait in the trenches while you take all th—”

“You can’t help me!” Quentin shouted determinedly. Why was it so hard for everyone to comprehend this?

A tense quietness proceeded as both males eyed one another intensely. Hazy blue orbs burned into cesious-coloured ones, both pairs refusing to look elsewhere save for directly at each other. When the silence continued to stretch on, Quentin had half a mind to make his escape.

“Look at your medallion,” Bill eventually requested.

Puzzled by the sudden shift in topic, he uttered a guarded, “Why?”

“Humour me.”

Grumpily fishing out his necklace, he examined the cherished trinket resting on the surface of his palm. Quentin immediately noted a distinct change in its appearance. Instead of the familiar skeletal figure in the centre, his medallion now had a silver, slightly raised claw-like design with each of the four claws framing both the inner and outer circles. The image reminded him vaguely of the Entity’s tendrils which frequently pierced his tender flesh whilst he dangled from a meat hook. Additionally, the phrase outlining the edge of the outer circle had disappeared. Flipping the medallion over, a crudely handwritten inscription filled up the remaining space.

“By my hand,” he started to read the writing aloud, “my resolute soul is shielded from the macabre evil plaguing his slumber.” What was that supposed to mean?

“I trust the Entity ‘bout as far as I can throw her, but…” Bill approached to cup his hand holding the medallion, the elder’s fingers gently forcing his hand to close over top of it. While he did flinch from the contact, Quentin pushed through his anxiety and endured the meager touch. “It seems she gave you a means of defence.”

“D-Does this mean… So, if I’m wearing this,” he attempted to deduce, “then I can sleep without Freddy hurting me?”

“You’ll find out right quick the next time ya grab some shuteye.”

Paling almost instantly, Quentin let out a hurried, “I don’t wanna sleep right now.”

“Don’t get yer panties in a twist,” the elder remarked lightly, “I wasn’t suggestin’ you do.” Removing his rough hand, Bill shot him a stony look and all but demanded, “Just don’t give up. We’re sure as shit not ‘bout to letcha handle this alone. And this time, we’ll do better.”

Good grief. Not trusting his voice to be steady, Quentin offered but a shaky nod in reply as his eyes pooled with unshed tears. He really had some good friends here, and while he was fed up with managing the burden that was Freddy Krueger, he supposed his best efforts only got him so far. His friends were going to be hurt no matter how much he sacrificed for them, and it was a harsh fact he had no choice but to come to terms with.

As for himself, he figured just by staying silent and doing nothing in elementary school, he allowed his bullies to success in getting under his skin. In reality, however, while standing on his own two feet was admirable, sometimes a little help was necessary to solve the problem—as it had been in the past. No, no, getting help was not the issue. Well, in the past perhaps, especially with his father the way he was. But no, more than that, he had to _accept_ that help. Really accept it!

Grinning wordlessly, Quentin supposed he himself was truly the biggest idiot around here.

His mind drudged up the promise he had made to David ages ago. Presently, Quentin begrudgingly admitted that he had relapsed a bit with his progress. Hence, with his confidence renewed, he swore to gain back that loss in progression the right way, and to remain strong.

If all else failed, he prayed his persistent hope and his incredibly dedicated friends would act as his saving grace.

“Really?” he stated in disbelief, and not at all caring if he sounded whiney, when thick fog began to surround his legs. Was there never a moment’s rest around here?

“Stay strong soldier,” Bill asserted with a very military-like and proud-looking salute. “We’ve got your back.”

“Thanks Bill. Really,” he tenderly uttered, “thank you.” Before the blinding fog consumed him, Quentin uttered a genuine if not cheeky, “And, for what it’s worth, you’d have made an awesome grandpa.”

The exaggerated groan and ghost of a smile he received in response had him beaming with utter delight for the first time in a seemingly long while.


	29. There Exists No Hope Beyond This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone!

Of all the things David wished to be doing, a trial certainly was not on that list. Sadly the Entity had other plans for him given the familiar chill now gradually creeping up his legs. Sighing tiredly, David simply shut his eyes and waited for the frigid sensation to disappear. Honestly, what he desired most was to vent his anger so he supposed a trial could offer such a release. Provided, of course, that the killer was eager enough for his blood.

Feeling the temperature revert back to a relative warm, David cracked his eyes open to reveal the inner décor of the Myers house. Light blue, peeling wallpaper and crooked picture frames adorned the decaying walls; an antique light swung ever so faintly above the entryway; the slightly rotten floorboards creaked when he shifted additional weight from one foot to the other; and a dusty couch acted as the primary centrepiece of the room. Each detail served as a depressing reminder of what this place was once was: a home. Although, according to Laurie, there had been a murder in this house—a disturbing one at that—so perhaps ‘home’ was not an appropriate word for describing it.

After gawking thoughtfully at the ceiling for a millisecond, David diverted his gaze downward only to discover that he was not alone. All three of his teammates had spawned with him in the house: Nea, Jake, and Quentin. His orbs remained glued to the insomniac, his penetrating stare boring directly into cesious-coloured eyes.

Looking mildly uncomfortable, Quentin attempted to slink out of the backdoor before Nea abruptly asked, “And just where d’you think you’re going cutie?”

The teenager, back turned, hesitated for a moment before answering with a calm, “To find a generator.”

“Gens can wait. Right now, we’re talking,” the tag artist commanded lowly, the finality of her tone leaving no room for argument.

“We’re in a trial,” Quentin weakly argued while nervously scratching underneath his beanie, “and I’ve already talked to Bill so…”

“Don’t care,” Nea stressed with a wave of her hand. “Stud, do me a favour and grab the pumpkin off the porch. And do _not_ blow out the candle. Jake, m’gonna need your help with the door.”

The saboteur, with a stony expression plastered on his face, silently nodded in affirmative and followed Nea as she ushered Quentin through the backdoor.

David was unsure if he should be confused or annoyed with this situation. Regardless, he was not exactly in the mood for talking, especially given how irked and infuriated he was with Quentin. Yet, for all his reluctance, he found himself compiling with Nea’s odd request. Maybe he really did wish to talk, or listen as the case may be. And what door was the tag artist speaking of precisely? He supposed he was about to find out.

Briefly scanning the street for any signs of the killer, David snatched the jack-o-lantern off of the porch railing and proceeded to join his friends in the backyard. Outside, he trailed after the others whom had ventured into the adjacent backyard and were now prying open the door of a small gardening shed.

“Jake, please,” Quentin continued to plead while eyeing the survivalist with a hint of fear, “let’s do this later. The killer’s probably gonna—”

“Find us eventually,” Jake interjected in a hushed, yet harsh, sounding tone as he held the wooden door ajar, “but the killer shouldn’t be your concern at this moment.”

“P-Please, I really don’t wanna—”

“Quentin! Either you get in that shed,” the tag artist growled out menacingly, “or so help you I’ll start singing.”

Now that there was a legitimate threat. Out of all the lasses here, Nea possessed the absolute worst singing voice. Seriously, it was positively lethal to any eardrum within a ten-metre radius. Not that he was anything of an expert on such things, but he knew a pretty or charming voice when he heard one. In his opinion, Feng had the best pipes out of everyone—a skill which apparently was influenced, so to speak, by her parents during her childhood—though Meg was a close second. Granted the runner rarely sang in front of the group however, within the forest surrounding their campsite, sometimes he would catch snippets of her voice carrying a beautiful melody. Claudette and Laurie both hummed tunes as opposed to actually vocalizing them which was nice too. And as for the guys, well… he may have to smack Dwight upside the head if their leader ever tried to sing again. Ace, on the other hand, sung quite well and his European accent made his music sound all the more sweeter. Jury was out on the remaining males, but David knew ears would bleed if he ever sang.

Begrudging, Quentin eventually shuffled into the shed before being joined by the rest of them. While Jake silently sealed the four of them inside the enclosed space, Nea grabbed something and set it down on the shoddy workbench next to David.

“Here,” the tag artist spoke while forcing him to put the pumpkin down.

After carefully removing the burning candle from the carved-out squash, Nea fiddled with something metallic sounding—presumably the mystery item she grabbed earlier. Mere seconds later, the shed became more visible courtesy of a rustic-looking lantern now illuminating the space alongside the candle.

Besides the workbench, the shed possessed a few odd ends but nothing really useful: a few gardening tools which would surely break the moment they were used; a watering hose and steel cannister; several small, ceramic flowers pots; and a medium-sized bag of lawn fertilizer.

Not a bad place to hide out or, as he suspected in Nea’s case and possibly Jake’s too, for a shag.

“Now,” Nea started as she jammed the waxy cylinder of the candle into a nail sticking out of the workbench and moved to stand across from Quentin, “we talk.”

Evidently Quentin appeared both apprehensive and cautious of the lot of them especially since all three of them were currently blocking the boy’s only exit out of the shed.

“You want me to apologize or something?” the boy questioned in frustration and with arms folding across his torso protectively. “Fine, I—”

“Nope, no apologies,” the tag artist swiftly clarified. “I wanna know why you’re so selfish?”

“Selfish?” Quentin reiterated with a fair bit of heat.

“Damn right!” Nea quietly spat while resting her hands on her hips. “We care about you. So, so much, and you just keep… you’re so…”

“You’re taxing us,” Jake critically assessed, “our emotions.”

“I’m not t—”

“We offer our help, we let you into our hearts, and you constantly spit in our faces. Does our caring mean so little to you?” the saboteur heatedly muttered while boring his obsidian eyes into Quentin.

The amount of raw emotion laced within those words rendered David further speechless. He knew everyone had been affected, to some extent, by Quentin’s outburst back at the campfire. But he never anticipated it to be quite this bad, and especially not from their most stoic member. Then again, Jake had become far more social and kind-hearted than ever before, and David was proud to see it.

“N-No, no, of course not,” Quentin tried to reassure Jake with no noticeable success. “I appreciate your caring, all of yours, but it’s your caring that makes everything so difficult to han—”

“Difficult? _Difficult?_ ” Nea repeated in silent fury.

Waving his palms frantically in front of his body, Quentin uttered a hasty, “That came out wrong! I meant, umm, I meant that your caring can sometimes, uh, make things worse when I’m dealing with Freddy.”

“As you’ve said before: if you choose your friends then, by extension, you choose to accept whatever outcomes may result,” Jake explained in a semi-hurried fashion. “If you dislike handling such things, then why not isolate yourself from the rest of us? Why choose to let us in if you always intend to force us right back out?”

“I…” Quentin trailed off noiselessly as he repositioned his arms to coil around his torso once again. This time, however, the teenager looked incredibly vulnerable and miserable with tears misting his eyes. “I… I don’t wanna be alone,” the insomniac eventually mumbled out.

“Then _why?_ ” Nea practically begged in desperation. “Why d’you keep doing shit like this?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want anyone to be hurt by Freddy!” Quentin seethed furiously, teeth clenching together momentarily before the boy oriented his head dejectedly to the ground. “But I understand now,” the teenager said, “I understand that no matter how hard I try, I can’t always protect all of you from him.”

Nea threw her hands downward and off at her sides all the while hissing out an exasperated, “And we’re _not_ asking you to! No one’s ever gonna ask you to do something like that! We’ve never asked Laurie to protect us from Myers, and we’re _not_ gonna let her deal with him by herself.”

“Freddy hurt you though, _intentionally_ , and he hurt David…” Quentin voice died off at the mention of David’s name, those cesious-coloured orbs eyeing him almost timidly.

“It happened, yes, and it sucked,” the tag artist uttered with a scowl, “but it’s in the past now.”

“We take necessary precautions during trials,” Jake chimed in, “we do our best and remain on our guard… and sometimes it isn’t enough. But, is the effort not worth it in the end?”

Quentin gave an obvious nod of his head in agreement before verbally affirming it by saying, “Y-Yeah, it is.”

“Why?” When the insomniac did not answer immediately, Jake—with a posture akin to a predator catching its prey off-guard—all but commanded, “Tell me why the effort is worth it.”

“To save our friends,” Quentin responded firmly and without hesitation. “To ensure we can survive whenever possible.”

Jake wordlessly nodded and his icy gaze towards the stubborn boy softened a touch in the process. Then, with a faint smile grazing his lips, the saboteur quietly confessed, “You enlightened me on the true value of friendship. You showed me what hidden treasures it offered by simply letting others in.”

Another item to chalk up to the list of surprising things which had stunned David into further silence: Jake Park actually demonstrating pure, human emotion. It was the most magnificent sight yet. The admission even had Quentin shedding more than a few tears in response.

“At first,” Jake resumed, “I solely focused on the benefits during trials, the impact it had on my survival… but, as I continued to interact with everyone, I found myself craving their company.”

Nea delicately placed her hand on the survivalist’s shoulder, the tag artist sporting a pleased grin while wiping at the undersides of her eyes with a single finger. David followed suit and placed his own hand on Jake’s other shoulder while offering the man, whom he had once considered an enemy, an approving nod.

Giving both him and the tag artist a warm smile and an appreciate nod, the saboteur returned his gaze to Quentin and went on to explain, “It became something precious to me. Something to cherish in a place where such a thing might disappear in the blink of an eye.”

Quentin pinched his eyebrows together and mumbled a shaky, “I-I never kn—”

“Now I find myself no longer seeking security in solitude, but in the people I’ve entrusted my security to. And while I still enjoy the occasional tranquility solitude brings, I would _never_ trade it for the relationships I’ve made.”

The insomniac sniffled a couple of times to stifle his tears and then mouthed a hushed, “Jake…”

“So, what is it that you truly want Quentin? Because, as far as I’ve seen, your only desire is to selfishly subject yourself to pain and suffering, and then you hurt those trying to help you.”

“That’s not… that isn’t what I—”

“Ya wished you were dead,” David finally spoke up, his voice pushing passed the renewed rage bubbling up in his throat. “Ya wished you ‘ad died in the real world. ‘at’s wha’ you said, right?”

Quentin bit into his bottom lip, the boy looking uneasy yet still managing to voice an audible, “Yeah.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nea quietly screeched, her outrage clearly etched on her face. “How could—”

“I get it,” David interrupted with an unusual calmness. “You ‘ad done wha’ ya could back ‘en and ‘at’s wha’ mattered, but wha’ ‘bout now? Would ya… rather be dead?”

He had to know this even though he dreaded the answer with every fibre of his being. If Quentin was indeed eager to die, then everything he had done for the boy had been a waste.

Maybe it would have been more appropriate, kinder even, to allow the Entity to take Quentin.

“I… I don’t know,” Quentin squeaked out with an uncertain shrug of his shoulders.

Nea gave him the most incredulous look before muttering a slightly disgusted, “You don’t _know?_ ”

“No, I don’t!” Quentin emphasized as a fire blossomed behind the fresh batch of tears pooling in his orbs. “I don’t know if I can handle this for eternity! You guys seem to be forgetting that I have an immortal rapist constantly attacking me in my sleep. And now in David’s sleep too! I mean, David… fuck…”

“Not anymore,” David murmured resolutely.

Quentin frowned at him for a spell before his eyes fell to the medallion hanging from his pale neck, the insomniac’s hand coming up to gently cradle the tiny circle in his palm.

The boy let out a dispirited sigh before shooting a glare in David’s direction and mumbling, “You don’t know that.”

Clenching his hands into tight balls, David had to physically prevent himself from punching the teenager into another realm. Digging his nails into the flesh of his palms, David stiffly shook his head and uttered a near silent, “Ya stubborn selfless bastard. I can’t believe I ever let myself love someone like you.”

“W-What?” Quentin stammered out in confusion after processing the undoubtably shocking information. “What’re you talking about? Don’t you, don’t you hate me? For what I… did?”

“I neva ‘ated ya for ‘at,” he admitted in a serious tone and accompanied by an equally serious face. “I ‘ate myself more for lettin’ it ‘appen, and bein’ powerless to stop it.”

“S-So you,” the insomniac attempted to speak, “you—”

“I don’t _‘ate_ you,” David reiterated with greater emphasis, “but I sure as ‘ell don’t love you either.”

“David,” Nea warily whispered while glancing at him with concern. Even Jake was watching him with a sort of anxious curiosity.

“Yer brave, yer smart, yer funny,” he raddled off fondly. “Ya always do wha’ever ya can to protect us or make us feel safe.” Exhaling through his nostrils, David sent a fierce glare towards the boy before claiming, “But obviously ya can’t accept our protection or safety without fightin’ us every step of the way. And yer shite with honourin’ yer promise too. ‘ow can I love someone ‘at can’t accept wha’ I ‘ave ta offer? Someone ‘at can't accept me?”

“Dav—”

“I can’t, simple as ‘at. After everythin’ I did ta save you from Freddy, from the bloody Entity takin’ ya, I—”

“‘T-Taking me?’”

“—thought maybe you’d see reason, or-or ‘at you’d at least be grateful and finally accept our ‘elp—”

“I did that, and you guys _forced_ me to stay awake! You forced me to _suffer!_ ” Quentin aggressively spat before calming down moments afterwards. “And I know I have to actually start accepting your help, for real. I came to that realization earlier when I—”

“Ya won’t,” David spoke with unwavering conviction.

With a single eyebrow raised, Quentin murmured a perplexed, “Excuse me?”

“You. Won’t,” he enunciated both words as clearly as he possibly could. “Ya won’t change… ya neva will, and m’not waitin’ ‘round and hopin’ for somethin’ ‘at’ll neva ‘appen.”

Ignoring his name being called, David pushed the frail door open with a shove of his shoulder. Before exiting the now stifling shed, his hand came up to grasp the wooden cross pattern on the inside of the door. He gripped the protruding cross-section of the beams in a bruising vice and then voiced a quiet, yet genuine, “If nothin’ else, I do ‘ope you can sleep in peace now.”

With that, David retreated into the comfort of the chilly Haddonfield air and made a swift beeline for the main street. He had zero interest in participating in the trial. No repairing generators, nor saving his fellow survivors or running for his life. No.

There was only one thing he craved with tremendous abandon now, the thing which he had initially desired in the first place: to fight the killer.

Walking into the central street, David proceeded to break car windows in an effort to draw the killer’s attention towards him. Fortunately, he was not kept waiting long. After a third solid smash, The Trapper, looking tense with rage, came stomping into the street.

Numbly observing the killer with dispassionate interest, David went to meet The Trapper halfway. Once in range, David threw a powerful right hook, the blow surprisingly connecting without any resistance. Unsatisfied, he swung again only for a massive fist to strike him across the left cheek. Taking a few steps back and wiping his split lip on his jacket sleeve, David lunged forward to land more stress-relieving blows on his opponent.

Both bulky males continued this dance for quite some time while four distinct pings had rung out overhead during the midst of their sparring. Thankfully The Trapper held off against investigating or seeking out the others and, after a while, the killer had even thrown away his bear traps and machete to properly partake in their sparring match.

David was now thoroughly bloodied with more bleeding scratches to his lip, a few busted ribs, a swollen face, and surely a black eye or a broken nose. His Harrington jacket lay in tatters on the asphalt along with his broken wristwatch. Though none of this bothered him in the slightest. All he was focused on was ridding himself of the gut-wrenching pain presently coiled around his heart and squeezing it in a dead man’s vice. And yet, for each and every blow exchanged thus far, he had yet to experience the faintest sensation of relief. Spitting a wad of bloody saliva at his feet, he glowered at the killer in vexation.

Why was he still feeling like complete and utter shite? Fighting had always served to elevate his mood and provide him with a surge of energy. Until now that was. No matter how many punches or kicks he was able to land, the horrible feeling within his chest persisted without end alongside his general frustration in regards to this tedious brawl. What the hell was he doing wrong? Was it because he was incapable of harming or defeating his opponent?

A powerful uppercut sent him crashing to the pavement, the gritty material biting through the flimsy material of his undershirt—which too was nearly as ripped and stained as his discarded jacket. David hissed as he clumsily staggered to his feet while massaging his jaw to alleviate some of the damage dealt to it. Annoyed with the sticky sensation caused by his bloody undershirt continuously rubbing against his skin, he violently shrugged out of the disgusting covering and carelessly tossed it to the side.

“C’mon ‘en,” David breathless addressed The Trapper while struggling to maintain his balance. “Is ‘at all ya got?”

With an indiscernible grunt, the killer approached him and harshly drove his muscled fist into his lower abdomen. Unable to recover quickly, The Trapper administered a mighty strike to the side of his head, the force effectively knocking David off of his feet again. His bruised cheek kissed the asphalt upon impact, and David knew immediately that his flesh had torn open by the sharp stinging sensation spreading throughout the left side of his face.

Ever so slowly maneuvering himself onto his stomach, David tried his damnedest to stand but his body seemed to have finally given out on him. Desperate to continue, he made to push beyond his limits and shift onto his hands and knees. Instead, his limbs collapsed almost instantly under his weight as his face smacked the cool pavement for the hundredth time. Oddly enough, it was at that very moment that the final generator had been completed, the loud horn blaring throughout the realm like an obnoxious alarm clock.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he mumbled irritably into the asphalt. “Well, c’mon, end it ‘en ya bloody bloke. I’m—”

Shifting his sore eye within its socket, David was irked to discover that The Trapper had disappeared from his sight. Grumbling angrily at being left on the street curb like some pile of garbage, he started to call out for the killer. Taunts, name calling, swears; anything and everything to force The Trapper to return and finish the job. Perhaps dying would be the thing which was capable of removing the agonizing ache clawing at the insides of his chest.

“David,” a voice whispered from beside him, the owner of said voice being someone he was not interested in being near.

Curving an eye to stare up at a blurry Quentin, he spat a curt, “Piss off.” Instead of buggering off, the teenager had the audacity to crouch down beside him and examine his injuries. When the barest touch grazed his presumably bruised back, David flinched and promptly shouted, “Don’t touch me!”

Again, however, his words were ignored as the boy merely resumed his speedy inspection likely to determine which injury to tend to first. David however was not about to lie here and allow those infernal hands to wander without permission.

Once the offensive palm reached his forearm, David struck with what remaining strength he had, his hand lashing outward to grab the boy. Sadly Quentin was a smidge faster and retracted his hand before David was able to ensnare it. Although, he had managed to claw the teenager across the back of his hand, blunt nails catching just hard enough to draw thin lines of blood.

He channeled his emotions into one piercing glare and muttered a low and threatening, “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me.”

Hazel-green clashed with cesious, one disturbingly fierce while the other displayed an unidentifiable, yet strong, emotion.

“Dav—”

“I don’t want _yer_ ‘elp,” David spat with an icy venom which could rival Jake’s own on the saboteur’s worst days. “Now go on, leg it. Leg it!”

The teenager shook his head and argued, “M’not jus—”

“Quentin!” Nea yelled while she trekked closer to said boy, palm clutching her bleeding side in the process. “C’mon, what’s the hold up? Jaws 2.0 didn’t actually kill him, did he?”

Quentin, without tearing his gaze away from David—which had morphed into a distinct, angry glower—clambered to his feet and brushed passed Nea while coldly declaring, “David doesn’t want my help.”

A moment passed before the tag artist decided to squat down beside his head, and then she uttered a half-hearted, “Enjoy your workout?”

Rolling his eyes, or trying to at least, David offered the woman a curt, “Fuck off.”

“Are you really giving up on him?” Nea questioned next with sadness and worry, and possibly pity too.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to quell his fiery emotions, he shoved her words—which began to buzz around, like a disturbed swarm of hornets, in his skull—aside and lightly demanded, “Get outta ‘ere.”

“But David—”

“GO!” he roared abruptly as his patience flew off into the darkened sky above. “Get yer arses outta ‘ere!”

Miraculously, Nea heeded his words and supposedly left to join Jake and the brat—whom were surely waiting at one of the exit gates to leave—but not before muttering a hostile and emotional ‘asshole’ under her breath.

A minute or two passed, and the sound of heavy footfalls colliding with the pavement caused his ears to perk up and warded off his sleepiness. The Trapper had finally returned.

With a bizarre huff, the killer heaved David onto his shoulder and proceeded to deposit his quarry onto the closest available hook. David screamed exhaustedly from the initial pain and then chose to dangle in silence until the Entity came to collect him. Throughout the waiting process, The Trapper decided to idly watch him dangle from the metal contraption—probably to ensure he received at least one kill.

Just as pulsating tendrils nearly formed their solid masses, the killer sighed and gruffly said, “The boy is not to blame for your own stupidity.”

“Wha’?” he mumbled incoherently. The Trapper, a presumably mute killer, was speaking. He supposed it was not a complete and utter surprise given how Krueger spoke, and supposedly the Doctor according to the brat, but it was nonetheless shocking to hear.

“Nevertheless,” The Trapper mumbled in afterthought, “continue as you are, and you will lose that which you hold most dear.”

The hell? He had little time to contemplate the killer’s words to him as The Entity dove in to claim her precious meal. Those thick, greedy claws effortlessly jammed through his flesh and bones, the killing blow acting as the final force which would hopefully eradicate all of his internal suffering.


	30. Where The Lines Blur

Following his minor spat with David, Quentin stormed down the street to the exit gate in a huff. Carefully guarding the opening, Jake eyed him with some inkling of concern though, thankfully, chose not to stop him from leaving the trial prematurely. Nea was stealthy enough to effectively evade The Trapper and, with Jake already waiting to take a blow if necessary, her survival was guaranteed. Then again, rescuing David might ruin her chances of escape; however, given the scrapper’s current hostile mood and Nea’s reluctance to tolerate it, she was probably the only one capable of getting David’s ass moving in time.

They were going to be just fine; no need to worry.

A brief flash of intense coldness kissed his tepid flesh before it gradually dissipated and Quentin found himself walking through the poorly-lit forest he knew all too well. Instead of trekking back to the warmth of the campfire, he ventured deeper into the outlying, brisk woods to avoid anymore potential interventions—or whatever the fuck the others wanted to call it.

His brain remained annoyingly insistent on repeating the heart-wrenching information his ears had absorbed from earlier on. Quentin had firmly believed his choices, his willingness to sacrifice and endure for the people stuck here alongside him, benefitted all the survivors. But, as it turned out, his decisions benefitted no one. Not even himself.

Nea and Jake shared a vaguely similar disposition with Bill regarding his actions; although, they were far more explicit and merciless in their delivery of it. Honestly, their accusations of his character at this point were a little ridiculous. Quentin surrendered his wellbeing, and sometimes his very life, for the sole purpose of seeing his friends safe from harm. What was so wrong about that? For heaven’s sake, Bill sacrificed himself all the time—and everyone else occasionally, though some more than others—and the elder was not getting harassed or scolded for his selflessness. They’re upset because you won’t let them help you unconditionally, his mind wisely remarked which prompted him to click his teeth in aggravation. He already fucking knew that goddammit.

“Fuck,” he abruptly hissed out when the tip of his foot snagged on a protruding tree root. Why the hell was this sticking out here?

Pettily kicking the stupid oversized thing, Quentin stuffed his balled-up hands into his vest pockets and continued to stroll aimlessly through the ever-present clusters of trees—the aero blue glow of the plants guiding his speedy strides.

And if both the tag artist and the saboteur were so damn adamant about this, then what of the others? Clearly David was sick of his assumedly self-centred actions too.

Quentin found his focus clinging to the scrapper and his utterly stinging words.

In the past, while lacking a plain explanation, he had categorized David’s ‘love’ comment as being a type of British slang. In truth, there were a whole bunch of words David voiced which perplexed him—such as tosser and whatnot. Therefore, he had doubted that David’s usage of ‘love’  _actually_ applied to what it normally meant. And yet, even with the brute’s peculiar vocabulary, the fact that the scrapper only referred to him as love—as opposed to mate, or bloke, or whatever the hell a wanker was—spoke volumes.

Okay, so maybe Quentin did connect the term with the implied sentiment, but there was no way it was genuine. David enjoyed one too many fights, was frequently boisterous even at the worst of times, and was forward with nearly everything which involved some degree of emotion. Hence, it made logical sense to Quentin that the scrapper was either messing with him for shits and giggles—kind of like how some of the girls teased him every once in a while—or the man legitimately harboured feelings for him. He chose to agree with the former explanation.

Only when David had begun to exhibit overprotectiveness and excessive clinginess did Quentin finally consider the latter as a viable option. Although, for its heightened plausibility, he had refused to acknowledge it. Not out of fear or disgust or mere ignorance, but for the scrapper’s sanity. He was not exactly the best catch in the ocean and he was not awfully keen on starting some kind of intimate relationship with anyone here given his hefty baggage.

Quentin came to a halt lord only knew where in the darkened forest. Out of idle boredom, he gazed at a couple of fluorescent funguses bunched together on the grassy ground while his brain recollected specific bits of information.

He had once, minutely, entertained the idea of him and David possibly being more than just close friends. David greatly exceeded his standards for physical attraction—that much was a given—and he found himself engrossed in whatever entertaining stories the brawler decided to share with him. Basically put, he enjoyed David’s company and his sometimes-over-the-top enthusiasm.

With concerns to the man’s stories, he especially loved the one where David had paid to replace an elderly man’s broken cane after the scrapper, while thoroughly intoxicated, apparently made a pass at the guy. David claimed he was trying to proposition the girl sitting beside the older man at the bar, but his drunken mind clearly did not differentiate properly between the two individuals. Hence, the elderly man, probably mortified or offended by the offer, struck David upside the skull with his cane only for the thing to splinter into several pieces. Regardless, the hit surprisingly knocked some decent sense back into the scrapper and the girl sitting nearby apparently got in the last laugh. Quentin had cackled so hard afterwards, the humor of it all causing his stomach to ache and partial tears to hang loosely from the corners of his orbs.

He smiled fondly at the pleasant memory only to remember why he had recalled it in the first place. With David’s confession, it did—to some extent—explain why the brawler had been incredibly watchful of him some trials ago. Additionally, it might explain why David was solely selected, or singled out, for the task of entering the dreamworld to save him from Freddy’s clutches.

But the confession was bittersweet. David has confessed and subsequently shut down any chance of an intimate relationship flourishing between them. Well, actually, Quentin supposed he was the one to end it before it even started.

Frankly, these musings made Quentin wonder if such a thing as love even existed in his life, or if love was nothing more than fleeting. As he had witnessed throughout the course of his life, love provided to him eventually disappeared: his mother up and vanished from his life, the woman supposedly desiring freedom from everything associated with her bastard husband; his father displayed a unique kind of ‘love’, though Quentin never considered whatever affection Alan bestowed upon him as such; Jesse gave him not love but passion—something in the heat of the moment like when they locked lips in empty classrooms before his best friend decided to effortlessly dismiss whatever had gone on between them for Kris; Nancy did not really reciprocate his feelings so he could not classify their interactions as involving love; and then there was Freddy and the man’s warped perception of love which served only to confuse or repulse him. Or, maybe, Quentin was the one with the skewed perception of love.

This was all so disorienting to ponder, his critical thinking creating a mild ache which gradually spread from his temples to the rest of his brain in a matter of moments. Massaging his beanie-clad scalp for a second, Quentin silently gasped, and then instantly glared, at the flecks of ashen leaves now flitting across his vision. Glancing around the vicinity, he belatedly realized he had been sucked into yet another trial. Another fucking trial with Freddy apparently, and in the Badham realm  _too_ —he recognized the scarce houses associated with the area.

“Fuck me,” Quentin whispered grouchily to himself.

Normally he was racing to wake himself up or charging in to protect his friends from his worst nightmare. But not this time. His energy levels were already incredibly low from the previous trial and the emotional bullshit was taking its toll on his mood. Besides, would his friends welcome his help when he could not even accept theirs without a fuss? Probably not, but it had never stopped him from rushing to their aid regardless. Yet, somehow, he felt no overwhelming compulsion to vigorously spring into action. He could not even motivate himself to take but a single step.

Quentin was, for lack of a more appropriate word, drained.

Rubbing his eyes to clear the sheen of moisture which had formed without his knowledge, Quentin lazily sat down where he stood and absently stared at a ruffled, meatball-shaped bush covered in blossoming white roses. Even in the trial version of the dreamworld, the bush retained its healthy and lush-looking emerald green, rounded leaves. A lonely rosebud peeked out from a tight cluster of said leaves, the poor thing seemingly trying so hard to spread its petals and bloom into a beautiful flower. Extending his palm forward, Quentin ever so gently traced the upturned sepals, the pads of his fingers relishing in the softness of it. Guess he was not the only one missing out on love—though, unlike him, the rosebud was likely yearning for love from sunlight or water.

“See something interesting?”

Great, just great, though he knew it was only a matter of ticktocks before Freddy sought him out. Quentin acknowledged the dream demon with a dispassionate hum, his posture oddly mellow in contrast to the usual tenseness and discomfort it displayed in the man’s presence.

Hearing the sound of grass blades rustling beside him and then feeling a light pressure—probably from Freddy’s claws—teasingly stroking down his clothed spine, Quentin mumbled a faint and curious, “Did you really love us?”

A pause in pressure quickly ensued, those metallic tips temporarily drumming on a section of his back before disappearing entirely. The grass shuffled about some more before warm breath tickled the tiny hairs at the base of his neck and sweater-clad arms coiled snuggly around his hunched torso.

Freddy proceeded to bury his burned face into Quentin’s jugular, the man contentedly nuzzling into the pure smoothness there before uttering a hushed, “You know I did.”

“Why?” Quentin questioned numbly all the while ignoring the sensation of teeth gently nibbling at his pulse point and mangled fingers slipping underneath his T-shirt to trace the contours of his stomach—the touches wonderfully pleasurable yet not completely distracting. “Why love us?”

“Why so curious?” Freddy inquired lowly and then sensually ran his slick tongue from the base of Quentin’s neck to the outer lobe of the boy’s ear.

Shivering from the contact, Quentin’s eyes landed on the rosebud from earlier—the sight of it invoking nothing save for sorrow and dejection—and then uttered a flat, “I’m just trying to understand your views.”

“You don’t believe I love—”

“I believe you loved us in your own  _weird_  way,” he interjected without an ounce of telltale emotion.

Freddy remained uncharacteristically silent, the man idly peppering the teen’s skin with tender kisses for a spell before asking, “And what  _is_  love Quen?”

Well that was an easy question. “It’s a strong feeling someone has towards something or someone else.”

Freddy chortled at his answer, the man plastering on a cheeky smile in response to his pouty scowl, before saying, “That’s the dictionary definition, sure. But what does love mean to  _you_?”

“Well… with people, love is something special. It’s like a bond they create and strengthen together,” Quentin attempted to explain. “It’s not perfect. Nothing really is, but it’s always constant. Each person offers something to it which makes it all the more powerful and important, and they... accept each other... for who they are.”

His own interpretation reminded him of the choice words David had offered him recently. How Quentin was unable to accept everything David had to offer or everything that encompassed the scrapper’s personality as a whole. God Quentin was such a hypocrite.

“But love sure as hell  _isn’t_  taking advantage of someone!” he stressed pointedly and then swiftly squeaked in response to fingers tweaking one of his nipples. “Or, or forcing them to do things they don’t wanna do!”

“What?” Freddy muttered innocently as he continued his ministrations. “Didn’t your boyfriend enjoy his little fantasy?”

“He’s not my—Wait, did you... did you know that David liked me? And you still...” he hesitated to finish, his voice petering off within his esophagus. The horrors from his previous nightmare all made perfect sense now. Freddy had proposed such a despicable game not only to hurt him, but to emotionally torture David as well. “You sick, perverted bastard!”

Quentin immediately drove his elbow backwards to dislodge the dream demon and hastily sprang to his feet.

“That idiot should be grateful,” Freddy smugly commented when the two of them were standing face-to-face. “I normally don’t share what’s mine.”

“M’not yours,” Quentin weakly argued while straining to preserve his composure, “and David’s  _not_  my boyfriend.”

“Aww,” the dream demon cooed obnoxiously, “isn’t that tra—”

“Shut up! God, you always ruin  _everything!_ ” he declared through tears which now dribbled intermittently down his cheeks. “And you fucking enjoy every second of it too! I just, you just…  _fuck!_ ”

“Now that isn’t f—”

“You’ve ruined  _me!_  Okay, that’s what you’ve done. I’ll never know what love  _really_  is, or what it could be because of  _you!_ ” Quentin screeched while pointing a shaky finger at the heartless bastard in front of him.

“I loved you Quen,” Freddy sincerely professed with an unknown look gracing his burned face. “More than anyone ever has, and I always will.”

Quentin wanted to argue against Freddy and his warped view of the concept—which he had done countless times beforehand—but instead what came out was a bitter and quiet, “You love Nancy more...”

Freddy said nothing in reply, his expression appearing almost hurt, though the man did extend his ungloved hand forward in a seemingly harmless manner. Nevertheless, Quentin hastily recoiled from it until the backs of his legs collided with the rose bush, the tiny branches stabbing into the fabric of his jeans.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” he vocalized hysterically, his tone sounding foreign to his own ears. “I hate  _this!_  I hate  _you_ , and I hate everyone else  _here!_ ”

If Quentin was actually thinking rationally, he might have taken note of the various raw emotions—such as worry and compassion—directed his way. Rather, his brain went on to unleash all of the pain it had been storing for a coon’s age while his tear ducts cranked up the water output to full blast.

“We were supposed to die. We should have fucking  _died!_ ” he resumed his rant, his mind far too lost in its own whirlwind of thoughts to really focus on Freddy or anything else. “Me and you, in the dreamworld. It was supposed to be  _over_ , and now you’re here and I’m here and, and… I can’t… I…”

Without his consent, his trembling limbs abruptly slumped in defeat. A brief burst of pain exploded from his knees as they smacked dully against the hard, grassy earth. Unable and averse to picking himself off of the cold ground, Quentin merely hugged his crumpled figure and wept uncontrollably, his head downcast and his lungs seizing with every strangled breath he took. Soon his grey beanie noiselessly fell from his head to join the puddle of tears dampening the loose topsoil below him.

“Why me?” he sobbed out indistinctly and to no specific person. Why was life so cruel to him?

A stressful moment passed and then Quentin felt a second set of arms gingerly curling around him. By the familiar smell alone, he knew it was Freddy but he scarcely reacted to the touch. What normally had him cringing violently in disgust was the most welcome thing in the world right now. But why was Freddy hugging him? Quentin did not understand and, as of this very moment, he did not care.

Disregarding the potential consequences, Quentin relaxed in the other male’s hold and simply rested his forehead against Freddy’s shoulder as he released his internal anguish. His cries were so aggressive he started to gag on a few lumps of bile worming their way up his sore esophagus. Launching his hands forward to grasp at the man’s clothes, Quentin pulled himself even closer to Freddy and greedily fed off of the positive comfort he craved so dearly.

“Oh Quen,” Freddy breathed out inaudibly as he embraced Quentin tighter, “my sweet baby boy.”

Quentin heard not the words but did recognize the tone of voice. It was abnormally soft, almost smoothly uttered, and full of sorrow and… concern. But that was impossible right? Yes, it had to be. Freddy was incapable of authentically expressing such emotions; the man was incapable of genuinely loving someone. This had to be a disgusting ruse, something to fracture his already flaking mind until only a lifeless husk remained. Nonetheless, he continued to cling to Freddy in needy desperation.

Shortly afterwards, Quentin became aware of some kind of movement before his quivering body was hoisted into the air. However, similar to his surroundings, this change was ignored just like the shrill sound of creaking stairs and the faint breeze no longer licking at his skin. Instead, he submerged his entire face into the scratchy material of Freddy’s striped sweater, which soaked up his tears without protest, and awaited his inevitable fate.

Quentin told Bill he had not given up, but he could not muster up the strength nor willpower to fight off Freddy’s unusual, yet pleasant, affection. He felt great shame at disappointing the elder, and the others besides, which brought on even more excruciating tears and wet hiccups. Why was he always crying? Why was he constantly tormented? Had he not earned something nice with how hard he fought in this place or in the real world? Why did nothing ever work in his favour?

The feeling of something plushy cushioning his back finally diverted his attention away from his emotional agony. In reality, the object turned out to be none other than a dingy old mattress which strangely appeared to be free of holes, rips or stains. Wait, he was placed on a bed? That meant… oh god, he was going to be raped again. Please God, why? What had he done wrong in his life to deserve  _this!_

Expecting his clothes to be removed from him at any second, he was genuinely shocked to observe a faded teal, floral-covered blanket being draped over his supine form. What was the dream demon doing? Reigning in his erratic breaths and momentarily stifling his sobs, Quentin’s orbs located Freddy hovering beside the bed and eyeing him in a peculiar fashion.

Not accustomed to witnessing such a foreign expression, Quentin murmured a wary, “W-What’re you—”

Freddy prolongedly shushed him in a gentle manner, the older male carding his fingers through unruly chocolate curls. With a chaste peck to Quentin’s head, the dream demon took his leave and vanished through the open doorway without another word.

What just happened? Quentin was absolutely perplexed, astonished even, and initially presumed this to be some bizarre trick on Freddy’s behalf. Yet, as the sound of footfalls retreating down rickety stairs reached his ears, his assumption was disproven. After all, it made little sense to leave and immediately return other than to uselessly terrorize someone of course.

Perhaps Freddy intended to sacrifice his friends and then return to him—like during their previous trial together at the medical institute, before Dwight intervened. However, if that were the case, why had the dream demon left him unrestrained. The man had to know he would be able to easily escape the house if he so desired. Thus, why? Quentin had not the knowledge to rationalize Freddy’s logic nor the patience to deal with the aggravating headache thinking about it induced. In actuality, his head was quite sensitive at the moment, his skull pounding in tandem with his beating heart and his crying session only worsened matters.

Wait a minute. If Freddy had  _truly_  left him, then it could only imply that the man was indeed going to hunt down his friends. No, no, no! He could not let that happen!

Quentin bolted partially upright but stopped himself short of throwing off the covers and exiting the narrow bed. Despite the strong urge to protect those dearest to him, both his body and his mind were resisting to commit to such noble actions.

Glancing at the blanket currently clutched between his fingers, he contemplated his options. He adored his friends, they were a godsend in this hellish world, but he was also suffering from an immense amount of debilitating mental exhaustion. Should he choose to drag himself into the game, then what? Was he going to be a help or a hindrance to his teammates? Plus, Freddy seemed entirely unpredictable this time around too. Would that unpredictability negatively or positively affect the dream demon for the remainder of the trial? Fuck this was complicated. What to do, what was he to do? After a few minutes of weighing his mental fatigue against his cherished morality, Quentin had come to a difficult and selfish decision.

Since his friends were  _clearly_  capable of taking care of themselves, as they oh so graciously conveyed to him, Quentin allowed his sluggish body to collapse heavily against the mattress. Kicking off his sneakers, he shifted his feet back underneath the slightly dusty blanket and got comfortable. Offering up a voiceless prayer, he hoped Freddy was unable to inflict harm on his three teammates.

Prior to unconsciousness whisking him away, an intriguing thought crossed his agony-riddled mind. Carefully pulling his necklace free from beneath his graphic T-shirt, Quentin eyed his altered medallion thoughtfully. Was this the blessing Laurie talked about? Was the Entity forcing Freddy to be nice? It seemed rather extreme, and it did not really match the defining inscription, but perhaps it was possible. Although, given how he and Freddy apparently shared some sort of unbreakable bond, maybe the Entity did not possess the power to control them either. Stop thinking, his brain sleepily pressured when he tried to decipher more pieces of the mysterious puzzle presented to him.

Quentin suddenly groaned in pain when the ache reverberating around in his skull intensified. If this escalated any further, he might actually puke. Sighing softly to himself, he tucked his medallion away, delicately rested his throbbing head against the musty smelling pillow, and chased after the welcoming call of sleep.

It was a bit tricky to secure proper rest with his head giving him grief, but eventually his pain subsided and he was greeted with a blank void. A satisfying calmness and weightless sensation accompanied the endless darkness—something so plain and basic, yet also splendid and remarkable—as his stress and burdens faded from existence. He might linger here for eternity if he was able to permanently indulge in such a magnificent treat.

“Quentin,” a garbled voice chanted, the noise breaching the blackness his mind was currently swimming in. Tuning out the distant sound, the soothing darkness attempted to swallow his mind for a second time.

“Quen,” the voice rang out again, the noise closer and more distinct as it pierced through whatever black, but welcome, barrier separated it from his relaxed mind. “You gotta wake up angelfish.”

Wake up? Had he been sleeping? Why was he sleeping?

Quentin moaned irritably in disinclination at the thought of abandoning such a blissful reprieve to rejoin the waking world. He was unable to recall ever being this at ease in a long while. Something almost rubbery-like began brushing insistently against his upturned cheek, the pressure gentle and slick. Sadly, however, it also caused a tickling sensation to spread all over his face.

Making no effort to disguise his grumpiness, Quentin cracked his eyes open to glare at the culprit rousing him from his rejuvenating slumber. At the sight of Freddy staring at him with vehement fondness, Quentin felt his heart rapidly spring to life like a car battery being jumpstarted on a cold winter night. Darting upright, he attempted to flee from the menace at his bedside only to be enveloped in sturdy and sticky arms.

“Calm down,” the dream demon uttered plainly while continuing to restrain Quentin.

It took a minute of fruitless struggling for his mind to drudge up the appropriate memories to explain this situation to him. Once it had, Quentin relaxed for the briefest of seconds only to immediately revert back to complete panic mode.

Squirming out of the man’s grip, Quentin ran frantic eyes thoroughly over himself. God why had he willing fallen asleep knowing full well what Freddy could d—

“Huh?” His train of thought abruptly derailed when, upon patting his figure down extensively, he discovered that his clothes were intact with no signs of damage or displacement. Additionally, there was nothing sore or hurting—not even his skull. Freddy had not taken advantage of him. Why? He had been vulnerable; the bastard had the perfect opportunity to do so.

Glancing up at Freddy with a surely stunned look etched on his face, Quentin whispered an incredulous, “Why?”

The dream demon stroked the back of his wet finger soothingly down the boy’s cheek before eventually responding with, “C’mon now. She’s getting impatient.”

She? Oh, the Entity. He supposed this meant his friends had either escaped or perished. Judging by the amount of gore splattered on Freddy’s face and sweater, he suspected the latter to be the likely scenario. Guilt instantly swelled in his chest—like an overfilled water balloon—which constricted his lungs in an unforgiving vice. He had allowed his friends to die, probably gruesomely, in order to take a nap. Had he really been asleep for so long, and so deeply, not to notice their violent screams? If that were true, he supposed there was nothing to be done about it now. Nevertheless, his gut bubbled slightly in response to the sin he had committed.

At Freddy’s imploring—yet oddly patient—look, Quentin slowly shimmied off the bed, redonned his discarded sneakers, and cautiously followed the dream demon through the rundown house. Exiting the front door, he shuffled over to the hook next to the driveway and peered up at the rusty thing with sadness. He was never going to get used to the feeling of a hook jamming through his shoulder. A coughing noise drew his gaze back to Freddy, the man standing quite a ways away from the metal contraption. What the hell? Why was the man stalling?

Confused, Quentin nodded meaningfully at the hook and asked, “Aren’t you gonna sacrifice me?”

Freddy shook his head, neutral face revealing nothing, and then silently beckoned him towards the main road. Well this was new… and weird. Apprehensive, yet not particularly concerned with his own survival for the time being, he trailed behind the dream demon as the man strolled into the front yard of the preschool.

Before entering into the building, Quentin glanced towards the left to see a broken hook with a medical kit resting underneath it. Squinting at the object, he recognized it to be Claudette’s ranger medical kit, the one she had been building up for countless trials. He remembered how ecstatic the botanist had been when she had finally collected the necessary supplies to fill it. Knowing that, seeing it sitting on the pavement in a pool of dried blood was quite disheartening.

Before he had even realized it, Freddy had moved forward to collect the medical pack. His bafflement increased exponentially when the man graciously presented the blood-stained kit to him. Clearly Freddy had noticed him gawking at it, but why give it to him? Did that mean Freddy was not intending to kill him?

Not wanting to push his luck further, Quentin gingerly accepted the medical pack and clutched it protectively against his chest. With the eerie silence stretching on between them, Freddy led Quentin into the lobby of the school and then down the right corridor with the haunting call of the hatch gradually growing louder with every step. Was Freddy actually going to let him leave? Now he  _knew_  this had to be trick.

His anxiety rose when Freddy waved a hand towards the stairwell, the man seemingly urging him to take the lead into the basement. Was Freddy going to push him down the stairs, or was the bastard secretly planning something more sinister? Attentively eyeing the dream demon in passing, Quentin slowly descended down the steps and went to stand a few paces away from the open trapdoor.

This was it; the exit. He really did not deserve to survive when he had contributed no effort towards the trial. Then again, the crawlspace door, or rather the ‘secret cave’, was also here too. Was that why Freddy had led him here? To recreate the horrors he endured in that cramped space? Shit!

“Go on now,” Freddy uttered lowly while giving him a gentle shove forward. “We’ll play together some other time.”

Cowering slightly in trepidation, Quentin inched his neck to the side only to witness Freddy already trekking back up the stairs. The dream demon had… left him? Just like that? There was something seriously wrong with this picture. A bead of sweat streaked down from his hairline to drip off from his chin while he riskily lingered—almost literally frozen in place—before the hatch. Several minutes passed without incident, and Quentin honestly did not know what to do.

Keeping his ears trained on the stairs, Quentin refocused on the thick fog occasionally spilling out from the edges of the trapdoor as his mind ran rampant. This certainly ranked relatively high on his list of weird occurrences, but it was not necessarily a terrible one. Nonetheless, he did not possess the energy reserves to mull over the details. Knowing Freddy, the dream demon probably just experienced a random mood swing or something. Why else would the sly bastard grant him such a kindness otherwise?

Quentin briefly thought of his fallen friends once more, the extra effort they likely put forth only to die in vain. If he had been actually participating… no. He was not going to obsess over it right now, especially given the rare respite he had been permitted. Besides, how often did the others sneak off during trials—to think, to watch birds, to screw, or to whatever—for their own personal reasons? A fair bit in actuality. This was the first, shall he say, break he had ever taken during a trial and it was worth it.

Beating down the remaining sliver of guilt hiding out in the pit of his stomach, Quentin confidently approached the hatch. Giving the stairwell one last pensive glance, he jumped inside the blinding, bone-chilling fog with a small smile tugging at his lips.


	31. Better Than Nothing

After reviving from his predictable though mind-boggling death, David scoured the survivor forest for a suitable and unoccupied body of water for a little rest and relaxation. Ongoing phantom aches in his body added to his tetchy state of mind and he had no desire to worsen it unnecessarily. His fellow mates, particularly Nea, were sure to provide such agitation, and then some, back at the campfire. Nonetheless, should he come across someone informed of his confession—if he could call it that—to Quentin or his tussle with The Trapper, he would proudly and confidently stand by his actions.

Bypassing several promising locations, David eventually stumbled upon his prize: an elongated, lake-like body of water with minimal flora confined solely to the lakefront or growing on protruding boulders scattered throughout the entire waterbody. Nodding cheerfully at his find, he began to strip down to his underwear and immediately dove into the ill-lit, frigid water. Swimming around some to generate a sufficient amount of warmth in his limbs, David settled out near the centre and proceeded to float aimlessly while still avoiding bumping into the rare boulder here and there.

David had a difficult time blocking out his previous trial given how everything remained fresh and crisp within his mind. Now marginally calm, he started to review the events which took place in the gardening shed. The way Quentin had spoken to him clearly demonstrated that the guy still primarily fussed over their well-being instead of having a care for his own. And, most importantly, how the selfless teen continued to tactically rebuff their help after all this time. Stubborn little fucker was never going to comprehend their feelings, his feelings specifically, and David was so exhausted with the wasted effort.

Even still, the question Nea had posed infuriated him the most. Or rather his response did. Was he really giving up on Quentin? In the moment, he wanted to agree. Voice that one tiny word to erase all of his frustrations and grievances which he had willingly subjected himself to. That answer, however, would have been a lie, a filthy and festering lie; hence, he had dodged the question altogether. It was easier to do that than admit the truth.

He despised himself for the intimate feelings he harboured for Quentin, feelings which apparently were not about to disappear easily or anytime soon. They caused him immense stress, agony, and lasted longer than any flesh wound he had ever acquired in his lifespan. David remembered experiencing similar pain when he had decided to shut his mother out of his life. Bless her soul, she did not deserve it. She had already been neglected by her husband, and David could not fathom the agony his mother must have suffered when she realized he had essentially done the same. And yet, when he was out drinking or fighting or collecting debts, he had scarcely spared a single thought for the kind-hearted woman whom had diligently raised him.

In this world, things were different. He did not have unlimited access to such luxuries—such as booze or a convenient brawl—which consistently rebalanced his emotional state. Well, other than his own ignorance or arrogance of course. Instead, David was forced to confront those pesky and gruelling emotions head on, and even more so now all thanks to a certain exhausted teenager. Quentin, with his ridiculous cesious-coloured eyes and haunting face and self-sacrificing personality, made him care. A boy, a mere child robbed of a peaceful life, made him think about things he disregarded time and time again. Like the effort his friends had to put forward in order to save his arse when he cockily fought their killers. Or of how detrimental his temper was to himself and the people around him. Or that there was significantly more to the concept of caring besides pain and violence.

“Goddammit,” he seethed irritably, his palm loudly slapping against the water and causing the surface to ripple outwards.

David loved that respectable, stubborn, self-sacrificing, cute, stupid brat.

He loved Quentin, but the agony of doing so was wreaking havoc on his own wellness. Was this pain, the pain of truly loving someone, better in comparison to the pain of loneliness? Recalling the touching admission Jake had divulged in that dismal shed, one might argue that the former was the better answer. After all, the saboteur knew solitude well, the man practically radiating an energy to ward off anything and everything which might disturb his immaterial sanctuary. And now, Jake chose the people here, he chose Laurie, he chose to emphasize friendship and love over the one thing he had once guarded with his life.

David respected the hell out of Jake for it so why was he unable to do the same with Quentin? They’re different people mate, his mind offered helpfully, different backgrounds and different stories. He knew that. He knew this was not some simple mathematics equation where he could shove an equal sign between Jake and Quentin. Both males were stubborn, introverted, and determined when the situation called for it. While Jake had suffered from the pressures of academic stress and trying to live up to some kind of family legacy, Quentin had suffered from child molestation which coincidently came back to haunt him in the future—and the perpetrator murdering his friends off in the process too. Entering this world, David gathered that Jake no longer needed to fret over his old life much whereas Quentin never received such a blessing. And then for Quentin to helplessly watch someone else experience his own personal nightmare…

“Fuck,” David muttered under his breath to the pitch-black sky above.

Perhaps, like him, Quentin was upset with himself for being unable to prevent Freddy from harming him in the dreamworld. Furthermore, the boy possibly blamed himself for the gruesome and humiliating torture which transpired but then, upon discovering the truth behind David’s sudden appearance in his nightmare, realized his perseverance could have been avoided if David had not shown up there in the first place. In short, the insomniac had suffered from David’s brash actions. Maybe that was why Quentin was so furious with him before: for boldly charging into the dreamworld, losing immediately to Krueger, and then subsequently causing the boy further emotional agony.

He sighed aloud and then dove beneath the water temporarily, the weighted liquid dampening his pain by deafening his senses to a dull roar. Resurfacing a moment later, David took a second to scrub at his clumped eyelashes before he suddenly recollected the words The Trapper had imparted to him. The killer’s words suggested that the man had been eavesdropping on their conversation in the gardening shed, or some part of it at least—which was weird enough in and of itself.

David understood the first half of what The Trapper had said—about his own stupidity—but the second part remained perplexing. ‘Continue as you are, and you will lose that which you hold most dear’ was quite tricky to decipher. For starters, was the ‘continue as you are’ bit referring to his penchant for picking fights, or his behaving like an insufferable arse, or something else?

And then there was what he held most dear. There were a couple of things he treasured in this terrible place: his access to clean water; his rebounding sanity; his fighting prowess, an ability beneficial to himself and the others; his passion and drive to survive in such harsh conditions; his annoying yet amazing friends; and his love interest. Was it one of those or all of the above? Christ, why was he even mithered about it anyways? The source was an untrustworthy, devious, and frightening killer whom never once showed restraint or remorse to them whatsoever. Until the bloke decided to humor you with your temper tantrum, his brain supplied in an almost provoking fashion. Fuck it; whatever.

Not wishing to indulge in the exclusive company of his own thoughts any longer, David made to return to the lakeshore but froze when he saw Feng Min lingering there.

“Feng?” he called out to confirm her presence.

The shadows casted by the fluorescent flora and fungi highlighted the cocky grin directed his way as the gamer gleefully asked, “Wanna race?”

“Wha’?”

“Swimming competition,” she elaborated and then flashily whipped her bangs to the side. “You ‘n’ me, right now.”

Offering the Asian a short chuckle and a slightly pained smile, David replied, “M’not really in the mood lass.”

“Oh,” Feng uttered, a phoney expression depicting worry crossing her face momentarily, “then maybe you’re in the mood for a lecture?”

David groaned aloud at his dreadful luck; he knew this tranquility was too great to last. “Nea?”

“And Jake,” the gamer all but chirped. “Look, I’m not one for glorified pity speeches nor do I wanna admit defeat by letting you wallow in your misery and rage.”

David grumbled underneath the water, the action driving bubbles to materialize at the surface in clusters which then popped out of existence. He knew where this conversation was headed, and the urge to physically demonstrate his frustration towards it was beginning to sound quite appealing in his head.

“So what’s it gonna be: accept your defeat in the water,” she proposed, “or suffer through a lecture?”

David scoffed at the young woman’s ultimatum and responded with a haughty, “Defeat? Are ya ‘at confident?”

“I mean, you can  _try_  to prove me wrong,” she emphasized with an indifferent shrug. “I won’t stop you.”

If possible, he might flee from this situation but his pride kept him submerged in the water—his pride and his desire to distract himself from his internal voice. Given her physique in comparison to his however, the winner was already obvious. Regardless, a swimming competition was infinitely more inviting than the second option.

“Think ya can beat the king?” he excitedly boasted and gestured to his pectorals with two thumbs. “Yer on.”

“The king of failure?” Feng countered elegantly while removing her clothes. “I completely agree.”

Oh boy. He did not realize the gamer was going to strip down for this. Granted he had seen Feng in her bra several times when her injuries were being tended to at the fire. Additionally, the gamer was one of the few, alongside himself, not to overly obsess about partial nudity. The rest of the girls, as he came to discover, were a little more self-conscious—especially Claudette. For the guys, Quentin was the shyest about his appearance though David suspected it had something to do with those scars.

Refocusing on Feng, David could not help but gawk at the mouth-watering set of lace undergarments displayed to him. Even in the piss poor lighting, the vibrant and pleasing turquoise blue colour, which complimented her pale skin tone nicely, stuck out like an alluring neon billboard sign. His dick began to swell from the mere sight, and embarrassingly quick too, but he decided against attempting to will it down. He doubted if he could.

Watching Feng swim out to his position, David hollered out a sly, “Such a beauty in—”

“Yeah, yeah, congratulations. You’ve now seen my panties; achievement unlocked. Look all you want,” the gamer expressed calmly before thrusting a menacing finger between his eyes, “but I feel any appendage of yours touching me and it’s game over.”

Well that was a near instant erection killer, though it probably was for the best. Probably.

“C’mon loser,” Feng barked out as she swam to one specific edge of the lake free of obstructions, “let’s start over here.”

Shaking himself out of his residual lust-induced stupor, David followed the gamer to the edge and took his mark.

“We doin’ laps,” David inquired, “or just swimmin’ ta the other side?”

“Laps, definitely laps. It’ll help exhaust all that _stamina_ of yours,” she declared with a shit-eating grin.

David did not need to glance downward to know that his boxers remained tented. Still, it was pitch-black beneath the surface of the water. “How can—Ya can’t even see it.”

“Don’t gotta see it to know it’s there. Anyways, I vote for five laps. You have to touch the bank for the lap to count,” Feng explained plainly, “and we’ll start on the count of three. You ready to lose?”

“M’ready ta win,” he confirmed.

Giving him a small, eager nod, Feng started the countdown. “Alright, one… two… three!”

And then the two of them were off. As anticipated, his bulky form hampered his overall speed in comparison to her lithe one. His powerful strokes had carried him for a time, but Feng’s swift strokes pushed her into the lead by their third lap. Dissatisfied with the thought of losing, David struggled through the remaining two laps, arms curving into the water as rapidly as possible. Ultimately, however, the gamer secured the win by a metre.

“Woo!” Feng exclaimed victoriously, fists splashing out of the water and pumping into the air. The action briefly showed off the faintest glimpse of her tantalizing, drenched bra to reveal creamy skin underneath. David had to avert his eyes before he lost all semblance of control. “I win. The new _king_ has taken the throne.”

“Rematch,” David panted out to the exuberant lass, his palms coming up to scrub the heat from his face. “I demand a rematch.”

Feng giggled at his flustered state and then sweetly whispered, “Got a hard-on to lose huh?”

“Not ta lose,” he weakly argued after gulping down a sizeable lump in his gullet.

“Well maybe you should stop thinking with your dick,” she suggested cheekily. “You might _almost_ win.”

Annoyed with her jabs, David uttered an impatient, “We doin’ this or not?”

“Hell yeah we are!” Feng immediately answered, her enthusiasm causing him to chuckle some.

The competition continued on in earnest. David had gained ground in certain instances which managed to secure him two wins much to the gamer’s chagrin. Sadly, out of the forty laps done, there had been one tie while the rest of the victories—namely a whopping five—went to Feng. Even though the bitter sting of loss irritated him, the competition had provided a pleasant change from his normal exercise routine.

“Gonna bust a nut after losing by a _whole_ lap?”

“In yer dreams lass,” he vocalized through heavy breaths, “but I think I’m done.”

Equally breathless after their rigorous swim, the gamer asked, “You admitting defeat already?”

“Only for you,” David expressed with a wink which he ensured Feng was able to see.

The Asian released a triumphant laugh, hands shooting into the air once more before she exclaimed, “Oh yeah! The king has been utterly defeated!”

“Don’t wet yerself,” David warned the other saucily.

“As winner,” Feng resumed while apparently ignoring his comment, “I will now claim my trophy.”

“Thought takin’ my throne was yer trophy?”

“Nope,” she affirmed, “the trophy is a lecture.”

“Wha’? But you said—”

“I said you can choose between a lecture or a competition,” she repeated with a evil grin, “and the prize for winning doesn’t apply to that.”

Goddammit! He never thought to inquire about a prize for the victor. If he had won, he could have demanded a favour or one of her cherished flashlights for a trial… or a blowjob. At the thought of a blowjob, his thoughts instantly veered to Quentin, the crying teenager’s reluctant lips wrapped around his sensitive and aching flesh. All of a sudden, David was harshly retching into the lake, searing bile scorching his esophagus without mercy. Thanks to the buoyancy of the water, flecks of his repulsive puke splattered against his cheek and an exposed portion of his torso.

“David?” Feng questioned with concern and a sliver of disgust. “Geez, are you—”

“M’fine!” he hastily stated while waving a haphazard hand at the female. Why the hell did he have to upchuck?

The gamer inched closer to him and placed a delicate palm on his hunched back. Her hand rubbed comforting circles on his right shoulder blade as he recovered from the abruptness of his retching.

“Didn’t know losing made you puke,” Feng idly remarked though he recognized the worried tone in her voice.

Evading the potentially probing comment, David begrudgingly shifted topics and softly confessed, “I-I didn’t mean what I said to Quentin. I was just angry, but… for other reasons.”

Grasping the fragile situation at hand, Feng seemingly ignored his recent upchuck in favour of asking, “And what reasons are those?”

“‘im not givin’ a damn for ‘is own life,” he continued while referring to Quentin, “fighting our ‘elp all the time, and just being, just being…”

“Himself?” Feng inserted for him. “His bullshit behaviour can be a real pain in the ass, but, I mean, maybe we haven’t been patient enough.”

“Patient enough?” David reiterated to himself thoughtfully.

“Bill’s been through a lot,” the gamer went on to describe her point, “but he’s older and not as… upset about it, I guess. Laurie’s more open with us now, especially Jake, so she’s been doing alright.” A melancholy vibe wormed its way into Feng’s voice when she said, “But her brother’s not stalking her dreams like that pervert does with Quentin.”

He hummed in affirmation but supplied no vocal comment.

“I want Quentin to _want_ us to be there for him,” Feng quietly admitted before her volume increased for the next bit. “But obviously our forcing the issue, or interventions, or whatever _isn’t_ getting anywhere. I mean, he told us his past and all, but that was it. H-He never talks about the bad dreams he has or-or if anything’s bothering him—”

“‘Cause he don’t wanna t—”

“Because we don’t _ask!_ ” she abruptly snapped. “We don’t ask, we _demand_ the answers, and we get pissy at him for all the wrong reasons!”

“He’s stubborn,” David asserted quietly. “Even if we asked ‘im, he’d probably deflect.”

“So what? By not trying or overtrying, we’re _losing!_ We’re making newb mistakes, and I hate losing over something I know we—”

“Feng,” he calmly interrupted the raging female, “it’s not ‘at simple.”

“I don’t care! I don’t… I’m just so _sick_ of all this bullshit. With him, with you, with the others, with the fucking Entity. I’m… I’m so…”

Gentle sobs broke Feng away from her passionate rant, the Asian cupping her palms over her eyes as she succumbed to her inner despair. Frowning at the heart-wrenching display, David crowded in and carefully enveloped the crying woman into his arms—his hands tactfully clinging to her upper back. The gamer leaned into his embrace, her forehead resting against his damp chest while her slim shoulders continued to shake. Given their height difference and the distance from the shoreline, David was capable of touching the muddy and sandy lakebed whereas Feng had to tread water to stay afloat. Therefore, he tightened his hold on her in order to support the majority of her weight and to hopefully assuage her sadness.

Those shrill, choked cries had him shedding a few tears yet he muttered a firm, “It might not be simple, but I’m willin’ ta—”

“Before th-this place, I enjoyed having fans m-more than friends,” Feng shakily revealed, “but now… n-now I just want you guys to stop bickering and-and fighting each other. I can’t take it, I just want… I wanna escape this bullshit world with my friends! I want out…”

Feng spewed several gargled sentences afterwards, some in Chinese, which David could not decipher through her unintellectual wailing. He simply held onto her tightly, his head coming to weightlessly rest on top of hers.

“So do I,” David spoke softly, his voice fragmenting a touch, “and we’re gonna fuckin’ make it.”

He refused to accept that they were trapped in this godforsaken world for eternity. Though hope was sparse as of late, he had to maintain what little of his remained. Otherwise, the Entity would surely, and likely with great pleasure, devour him and he was ever adamant on depriving their captor of such an honour. He was a fighter through and through, and he had no intention of changing that fact now.

“I-I know we are,” Feng murmured after a moment, the Asian gingerly extracting herself from his hold and eyeing him with gratitude. “We’re gonna beat the boss and get the hell outta here and… and th-thank you for, uh, this.”

“Yer welcome.”

“R-Right, so, umm,” the gamer stammered out after composing herself and shifting her drenched bangs around, “are you, uh, gonna patch things up with Quentin?”

David nodded and then wiped away a stray tear clinging to Feng’s slick cheek with his thumb. “Guess I betta, but m’not sure ‘ow ta—”

“First, you’re gonna stop acting like a total loser. Then you’re gonna find Quen,” she raddled off, her commanding shift in behaviour briefly catching him off-guard, “tell him how much of an idiot you are, explain your reasons for unloading on him until he understands, and then you’re gonna kiss him.”

All of that sounded incredibly annoying and complicated apart from the last bit. “Maybe I should just skip to the kissin’ part.”

“Oh no, don’t do that!” the gamer voiced in alarm. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Why?”

“Are you kidding?” Feng uttered incredulously. “Besides confusing the hell outta him, if you randomly kiss him without explaining anything, he’s going to become angry, or depressed, or a combination of angry and depressed.”

After a brief pause to ensure his comprehension, the Asian resumed with, “I know you’re all about actions speaking louder than words, but you need the words for this to work. And, technically,” she added with a ponderous look plastered on her face, “talking’s an action so it works with your little motto or whatever.”

David huffed out a small laugh and responded with, “Guess so.”

Another noiseless pause followed where he contemplated whether or not this was a good idea before Feng disrupted his musings with an impatient, “So? What’re you waiting for? Go find Quentin. He’s probably back at the fire by now.”

“Sheesh,” he drawled, “relax lass. I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

Exiting the lake, David shrugged off the chill prickling at the surface of his slick flesh and moved to collect his discarded clothes. Bunching his undershirt in his hands, he proceeded to dry himself off as best as possible.

Catching movement in his peripheral vision, David turned to witness Feng eyeing him hungrily. “Enjoyin’ the view?”

“What?” Feng questioned innocently. “Since you got a free look, I’m entitled to have one too.”

Shimmying into his jeans, David threw out a wink towards the Asian and said, “Ya bet—”

“Dammit!” Feng suddenly shouted when a thick fog started to surround her submerged figure.

Christ. The Entity really seemed to be shortening the duration between trials, but Feng probably needed the distraction.

“You got this,” he informed the young woman with assurance.

“Pff, I more than got this,” the gamer confidently sassed, “I’m gonna _own_ this!”

Feng quickly vanished along with the fog shortly afterwards and he internally wished her the best of luck. Casting aside the now soaked undershirt, he redonned the remainder of his clothing and wristwatch—being shirtless was hardly anything to worry about.

Giving the mesmerizing lake a lingering and grateful glance, David proceeded to seek out the campfire. Without any visible markers, he had to rely on changes in temperature to guide him. An increase in temperature meant he was heading the right way; although, how far he had to walk to find the right way was up for debate.

After the vigorous workout he experienced, his limbs protested with every single step he took. Regardless, he pressed onward until a distance light reoriented his stride in the appropriate direction.

Approaching the outer lying edges of the campground, his ears picked up on a few elevated voices—both female and male. What was going on now? Sucking in a deep breath and straightening his posture, David steeled himself as he entered the treeless area to find nearly everyone present—except for Feng, Laurie, Bill, and Meg—in an awkwardly formed circle. Locking eyes with Nea, David matched her stoney gaze in full force and prepared for the worst.

“Couldn’t keep the killer off you, huh stud?” the tag artist inquired rather coldly.

The killer? His trial with The Trapper had been ages ago. Why was she bringing that up now? “Wha’re ya on ‘bout?”

“Uh, w-weren’t you just called off for a trial?” Dwight curiously inquired with a subtle head tilt.

“Nah. I just came back from takin’ a dip,” he replied informatively while patting their leader on the shoulder, “and ‘en swan laps with Feng before the Entity dragged ‘er off.”

Ignoring the others and the peculiar tension he had barged into, David directed his attention to the boy standing rigidly amongst everyone else and stated, “I need ta talk to ya.”

Shooting a strange, almost pained, expression his way, Quentin murmured a faint, “I think you’ve said enough.”

“Please,” David pleaded, “I didn’t mean t—Where’d the rose come from?” He had never seen any roses growing in their surrounding forest yet here the boy stood with one buried in his unruly curls.

“Rose?” the teen reiterated in confusion.

“There’s a white rose tangled in your hair Quen,” Claudette offered helpfully while demonstrating the location by pointing to a section on her scalp.

Quentin rummaged through his curls to detangle the plant and then silently examined the round item resting in his palm. David watched as a soft smile formed on the boy’s lips, the look intensifying the longer he remained fixated on the lush bulb. Quentin looked oddly happy holding the little thing too. But who gave him the flower?

“Oh it’s, umm, it’s nothing. N-Nothing important,” the teen stuttered out after noticing everyone staring at him, his words raising some suspicious flags in David’s brain.

“Here,” Quentin uttered while maneuvering the flower into Claudette’s hair—which had lost its purple hue and had finally grown out to be properly braided once more. “It looks much prettier on you.”

“How ‘bout the blood on yer cheek ‘en?”

Freezing for a second, Quentin speedily scrubbed at each cheek with his vest sleeve, the red smear staining his left cheek flaking off to reveal unmarred skin. “It’s not mine. It-It’s from Claud’s medkit.”

Claudette's medical kit? Finally realizing that there was something sketchy afoot, David turned to Dwight and muttered a clueless, “Did I miss somethin’?”

“Quentin was just explaining—”

“I was called for a trial,” Quentin quickly cut off Ace, “and instead of participating, I took a nap. You guys have done other things besides generators during trials too, okay. It’s not the end of the world.”

“And ‘at’s it?” David lightly remarked. “With ‘is medallion, it shoulda been f—”

“Because the killer was Freddy!” Nea spat in exasperation.

Immediately paling from the information, David voiced a low and worried, “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“Nothing happened. I entered the trial, quickly woke myself up, camped out in one of the houses _without_ a generator, and then I took a nap,” Quentin explained fluidly though he did not retain eye contact with anyone. “When I woke up, I went looking for a generator to repair and found the hatch instead. I’m sorry for not helping you guys out, but you _said_ you could take care of yourselves... so I let you.”

“And the lovely rose?” the gambler inquired smoothly with his posture seemingly carefree, but David knew otherwise.

Quentin let out a ragged sigh before going on to state, “There’s plenty of them growing around the preschool.”

“Yet you forgot that—”

“We’re just curious ab—”

“Mates, stop it!” David exclaimed, his outburst interrupting whatever accusations or assertions Jake and Dwight were about to put forth.

“Butt outta this David!” the tag artist viciously snapped, her patience with him apparently not withstanding. “This is serious sh—”

“And you think forcin’ wha’ever ya want outta ‘im’s gonna work?” David commented while eyeing every doubter—which was basically everyone there except Quentin—present. “Just leave ‘im be.”

Nea gave him a furiously incredulous look before uttering, “You don’t _actually_ believe ‘im?!”

He did not in all honesty, but prying was only going to give everyone a headache. David had to trust Quentin with whatever happened for now, but he was going to be there for the boy whether he received answers or not. He merely prayed nothing too sinister had transpired between The Nightmare and his obsession.

“I _believe_ he don’t needa be interrogated ‘bout it,” the scrapper stressed meaningfully before turning his attention back to Quentin, “and I’ll be ‘round if and when he _wants_ ta talk ‘bout it.”

A few grumbles and inquisitive stares filled the brief silence; however, David did not want to risk being distracted from his self-imposed mission.

“But right now,” he resumed, his voice raising such that it deterred anyone from interrupting or kicking up any further verbal storms, “I _really_ need ta talk to ‘im.”

Upon locating Quentin with his orbs, the teen side-eyed everyone nervously before eventually giving David a small nod as some form of permission to speak.

“First off, I’m sorry Quen. M'sorry I'm such an idiot and m’sorry for ‘urting ya. Wha’ I said before, it-it was all true, but it’s ‘cause I don’t like ‘ow ya discount yer own life and when ya constantly put up barriers between everyone. I may loathe it, but I’ll accept it ‘cause it’s who ya are.”

Glaring at him disdainfully, Quentin uttered a slightly hostile, “I thought that last part was the other way around?”

“It applies ta both of us,” he corrected before plastering on a heartfelt smile. “Either way, I love you Quentin Smith. And, if yer willin’ ta give a rugged scrapper like me a chance… I’d be grateful.”

“P-Please…” the insomniac trailed off while appearing as though he was on the verge of tears. When those cesious-coloured orbs angled back to David, Quentin venomously seethed, “Please stop fucking with me.”

Horrified at the prospect, David let out a hasty, “M’not.”

“You have to be! This is, you just… you’re so misleading. You say all that stuff before and then immediately go back on it. So this is, what, a trend or something? After the next trial you’ll change your mind again? Well _fuck you!_ I hate whatever sick game this is your playing with my h—”

Quentin was abruptly cut off by David sealing his lips over top of the boy’s own. It was a long-awaited moment for David, and possibly his last, so he savoured every second of it. The surprising softness of Quentin's lips, the smoothness of his chin as it occasionally tapped against David's faint stubble, and the way the shocked boy ever so gently pressed into the delicious contact before swiftly breaking away from it.

David watched as Quentin numbly fingered his lips, as if in sheer disbelief over his own actions, and then voiced an almost inaudible, “This can’t be real.”

“It is!” David wholeheartedly insisted. “I swear it on every bottle of booze I’ve ever ‘ad in my life!” At the teenager’s prolonged silence, he tried again with, “Wh-Wha’ do I gotta do ta prove it? I’ll do anythin’ t—”

“Stand still,” Quentin stiffly murmured.

“Wha’?”

“Stand. Still,” the boy repeated while emphasizing each word.

David instantly did as instructed as Quentin move to invade his personal space. An unknown look graced the boy’s face and, while he attempted to place it, Quentin threw a very solid and powerful right cross. The unexpected blow caught David directly in the nose and caused him to stagger sideways into Ace.

Clutching his now bleeding sniffer, David waved off the choir of voices yelling at them in the background and prevented them from interfering. Slowly locking orbs with the exhausted-looking teenager, David willed his temper away in order to hear some sort of explanation first before he decided to physically retaliate.

“For being an asshole,” Quentin simply said, the other male’s expression gradually morphing into one of contentment.

Nea and Dwight were completely baffled by what was going on while Claudette was rushing towards the scrapper with a pad of gauze at the ready. Jake and Ace silently nodded at each other knowingly and with fond approval—like they both knew something like this was bound to occur.

As the botanist tended to David’s nose on the spot, Quentin approached him in a non-threatening manner and leaned into his ear to whisper, “I’ll give you a chance, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Ya don’t need ta,” he replied evenly.

He observed as Quentin relaxed his posture and then the boy pressed a warm, chaste kiss to his cheek. Offering him one final ghost of a smile, Quentin casually retreated through the treeline and out of sight while David internally praised himself for finally mustering up the courage to say what he truly felt.

“God!” Nea wailed abruptly and without any noticeable heat. “You guys’re such… _guys!_ You’re all terrible!”

The remaining members at the campfire instantly burst into laughter at the tag artist’s flustered, yet highly astute, comment.


	32. The Indulgent Flame Of Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mild sexual content. You have been warned!

After his bizarre trial with Freddy, Quentin slowly sauntered back to the campfire with purpose. His goal had been to return Claudette’s ranger medical pack to her and then disappear into the silent comfort of the woods. However, there existed no doubt in his mind that his friends, once they realized he was in this latest trial, were going to utterly  _hound_  him. Or maybe, given their frustrations towards him, they would not. Perhaps they were apt to remain cold towards him or ignore his presence altogether.

Anyhow, regardless of what he may stumble into, he had confidently strolled into the campground with a smile and, ignoring the comments thrown his way, offered the medical kit to the botanist. Claudette hardly even spared it a glance for she instantly pried the item from his fingers, set it haphazardly on the filthy ground, and then proceeded to squish him via a tight hug. Deducing her reaction to be one derived from guilt, Quentin attempted to verbally assuage it only to be bombarded by more bodies latching onto him. His delayed reciprocation to their embraces, their willingness to set aside their grievances with him, was a result of his surprise given his anticipation of the opposite outcome. He knew his friends here deeply cared for his wellbeing, yet he found himself forgetting this fact time and time again. Actually, going by what Jake had confessed to him, he was dismissive of their feelings. Quentin acknowledged the existence of those heartfelt emotions but disliked when they were directed at him in such a manner—the whole burdening issue and whatnot.

He... god, he really was slipping back into his old habits. The acknowledgement of the truth granted him renewed appreciation for the tenderness the others were unconditionally supplying to him. It was an incredibly beautiful group moment, one which he had not experienced since his confession with concerns to his traumatic past. Furthermore, as similarly done with Freddy, Quentin submitted to his irrepressible craving for positive physical contact once more. Although, given the harsh unfairness of life, such a loving moment apparently was ill meant to last.

Excluding David, as the scrapper had been absent from the campground at the time, Bill was the only individual not actively participating in their tight-knit group hug.

The moment the elder fully held his gaze, he knew those aged orbs were piercing straight through his invisible defences. More explicitly, Quentin realized that the elder saw through his mask. What had stunned him the most was that Bill, one of the most discreet and professional persons here, called his uncharacteristic behaviour—the false, cheery persona he had adopted upon entering the campground—out in front of the others. And the second the veteran did so, the questions came rolling in, but Quentin did not immediately panic.

He had prepared for this beforehand by carefully concocting an appropriate explanation, something fairly believable in his mind, for his lack of participation and his stroke of luck avoiding Freddy during the trial. Unfortunately, recounting his fib to his friends appeared to convince no one as their projected skepticism and worry, of varying degrees, ever so kindly tipped him off to that fact. When his story had failed to persuade his stoic and dispirited audience, an interrogation soon commenced.

Quentin had remained stubborn throughout the entire makeshift proceeding, refusing to respond to any and all accusations or harsh remarks pitched his way—his patience for such things greatly lacking. In a bid to preserve his sanity, he attempted to simply depart from the area only to be thwarted every single time he tried. Worse still, during said interrogation, somehow the previous one—or whatever the hell his friends fucking classified it as—he shared with Jake, Nea, and David slipped out and then a ridiculously crazy mess of a storm broke loose.

With the verbal storm showing no signs of clearing, Feng eventually had ducked out—likely to evade the ever-present  _bullshit_  the gamer often spoke of. And then—not soon enough for his liking though—Meg, Laurie, and Bill were whisked away for a trial which left fewer individuals to contend with. Opportunity now available, he made a last-ditch effort to escape the vicinity, but then Nea had firmly grasped his vest collar and all hope seemed lost.

To complicate matters further, David had randomly appeared with the sole intention of speaking with him. Quentin did not desire more abuse to his emotions or his eardrums, even if it was partially warranted. Yet, when his composure threatened to shatter, the scrapper had surprised him by coming to his defence. Instead of joining in to fish for answers, David opted to ignore the situation altogether and knocked the others for a verbal loop too. Therefore, the least he could offer in gratitude was allow the burly male to say whatever he needed to say.

Quentin never expected to hear what he had heard next: not the cordial apology, not the level of care and emotion in David’s voice, and not the redeclaration of the scrapper’s love for him. It had to be a dream, the nature of it a questionable mystery, and then it had to a sick joke. David  _had_  to be fucking with him, but then the brute vigorously kissed him. The sudden intimate contact sparked a flame inside of his very core, one which had not been ignited since arriving in this hellhole. One which, evidently, he thought would never alight again. Logically, of course, he denied the pleasant sensation but, coupled with David’s adamance and his own conflicting emotions, he had decided to take a leap of faith. First by punching the boorish idiot for obvious reasons, and then giving the both of them a chance to experience something different. Something special, hopefully.

God. Even now, Quentin was still able to detect the faintest trace of David King lingering on his lips and taste a hint of the other male too. It was delightful yet the residual sensations of that kiss, and the amazing kiss itself, created a foreign issue—an inconvenience rather than a blessing he might argue—which required his immediate attention. Thanks to his sleep deprivation and the stress of contending with Freddy, Quentin seldom pleasured himself. With the urge and morning wood practically non-existent, he thought sparingly of such things and acted on them even less. In truth, he had never satisfied any personal needs of that nature during the entire course of his entrapment here. Now, however, he had a noticeable problem courtesy of that stupidly thrilling kiss. And it begged the curious and demanding question: what was he going to do about it?

If he asked any other guy the same question, they were sure to outright laugh in his face given how obvious the answer should be. What capable male would pass up on the chance to jerk off? Yet, here he was, sitting in the outlying woods at the base of a tree, head between his legs and staring at his crotch with a tight frown while contemplating his meager options. It was almost pathetic really.

Quentin could ignore it, wait for the problem to eventually dissipate on its own. Sadly, the discomfort was outweighing his moderately deteriorated patience, and he was not certain he could hold out for the long haul. Perhaps he might think of things which disgusted him: the stench of death and festering wounds; the gross spitting contest Feng once held with Meg and David; Freddy. When the thought of the dream demon entered his mind, his dick, to his sheer horror, actually twitched a touch in interest. Okay, fuck no! He was absolutely  _not_  reacting positively to the thought of  _Freddy! God no!_

Giving his skull the firmest, near headache inducing, of shakes, Quentin hastily pondered any other remaining options yet to be explored. He could go for a swim, the freezing water likely capable of killing his erection off near instantaneously. However, this required him to physically be  _in_  the water, to some degree, which did not strike his fancy either.

Quentin sighed aloud and directed his gaze towards a random, plump mushroom protruding through the sturdy bark of the trunk he sat beneath. He truly did miss swimming, his favoured activity now feeling like nothing more save a fuzzy memory—so lifeless and dull that it possessed no colour or distinguishable shape. He had tried multiple times to conquer his irrational fear, just dive right into the dark blue liquid abyss, and every time his mind forced his body to heel.

He was content to wallow in his own depression and self-pity for a spell, relish in the fleeting thought of swimming at some point in the future, until his  _problem_  eventually kicked up a fuss at the lack of attention being provided to it.

“Fuck,” he irritably barked out, his fingers carefully unfastening his belt a second later.

Begrudgingly, he decided this was an excruciating torture he should not have to endure and that simply working through it was the fastest way to be rid of it.

It felt incredibly weird holding his aching, seven-or-so-inch cock within his grip, his fingers awkward as they lightly drummed against his sensitive flesh. Offering his annoying member a few leisurely strokes, he allowed his mind to drudge up some helpful mental porn in order to expedite the process. He first conjured up images of Nancy: her small yet alluring smile; her long and gorgeous flowing brunette hair; her greyish-green, mesmerizing orbs; her tall and subtly curvy figure. Trying to strengthen the image, he visualized the two of them together, his mouth lavishing her pert breasts while her palm tenderly stroked his dick. Her dishevelled hair splayed above her head while her beautiful moans carried a mystical tune known only to their ears. Her slender hips eagerly meeting his own as their pleasure skyrocketed and eventually reached its heavenly peak. It seemed erotic enough of a fantasy yet, sadly, his imagination for his high school crush provided paltry relief to his erection.

Trying not to feel disheartened, Quentin quickly recalled images of Jesse and their passionate moments spent together tucked away in remote corners of Springwood High School. Jesse’s sinful lips teasing him with the promise of sating a craving or two, and then his best friend’s tongue joined in to teach his own a unique kind of dance. Maybe their make-out sessions went further where Jesse threw his pride to the wind and gave into the moment. Quentin imagined the other male pining him to his father’s office desk, Jesse suckling at his neck while he frantically ground his pelvis into his friend. Their groans of ecstasy and hunger to chase their highs too impossible, too overwhelming, to ignore as they slammed into each other’s animalistic thrusts. Quentin licked his lips at the thought, his eyes closed in concentration while he desperately tried to get off. Unfortunately, like before with Nancy, this fantasy produced fairly poor results as well.

“Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his energetic strokes diminishing alongside his loss of nerve.

This was not working one bit and, if anything, his cock was even worse off. Okay, this was okay, he was capable of fixing this. He just required a stronger source of stimulus, or perhaps he simply needed to imagine the correct person for the job. After all, neither of his old flames instigated his escalating problem in the first place.

Content to try his hand once more, Quentin started to visualize David. Given how he had actually seen the majority of the scrapper’s body in the buff, it was not terribly difficult to replicate a solid image within his mind. With his lovely picture of David painted, he proceeded to create an erotic fantasy to jack off to.

Quentin visualized the two of them escaping a trial together, the surge of adrenaline still fresh within their respective systems. Wishing to drain their remaining energy and to celebrate their survival, he imagined David knocking his back into the nearest tree and aggressively stealing the breath from his lungs. Clothes hastily strewn in every direction, the excitement continued in earnest, his teeth feverishly nipping at the scrapper’s neck while the older male pumped their erections together in one large fist. Those coarse hands roughly flipping him around and forcing him to grasp onto coarser tree bark for dear life as hips snapped loudly against one another. Lewd noises, powerful enough to disturb the baby birds hidden about the vicinity, rang out and increased in quantity when their ends drew nearer.

“David,” he whimpered out weakly and then bit into his bottom lip.

And then his mind abruptly changed the channel, the exquisite image of David convulsing in pleasure morphed into the grotesque image of Freddy basking in his handiwork.

“ _No!_ ” Quentin wailed miserably, his ministrations temporarily faltering.

Yet his raging erection did not flag nor droop. In actuality, his cock betrayed him by twitching sporadically and beginning to leak a fair amount of off-white fluid from the tip. No… no, this had to be a nightmare. Quentin hurriedly attempted to swap the dream demon out with David, since his judgement was clearly clouded, and he did so successfully but not entirely. Instead of situating himself in his prior fantasy, he found his mind replaying a very specific memory.

It was a brief, colourful flash of an image where he had been partially sucking David off while narrowly rocking his ass backwards to meet Freddy’s thrusts.

With a shrill shout, Quentin unexpectedly came, his cum shooting outward in three distinct ropes to coat the grass blades and loose sediments in front of him. Out of unconscious instinct or perhaps shock, he continued to lazily stroke his deflating member until it was completely spent.

Reigning in his speedy breaths and allowing his posture to slouch in exhaustion, Quentin choked back several sobs which restlessly reverberated around inside of his constricted gullet. He did… He had actually climaxed from his own sexual abuse. God, what the fuck was  _wrong_  with him?! That was sick; he was  _sick!_

His lip trembled for but a second before he viciously jabbed his incisor into it, a thin trail of blood materializing soon after which he eventually lapped up. Quentin was not going to let his growing despair enslave him. This never happened. He was going to forget this ever happened, push the disturb—

“Quen—Oh Christ!”

Shit, shit, shit! At the sight of David near his side, Quentin frantically shimmied his boxers, jeans, and belt back into their respective places—the mess could be dealt with later.

“M’sorry, sorry,” David hesitantly voiced while sheepishly averting his gaze. “Didn’t mean ta interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Quentin quickly squeaked out, a mortified flush flaring underneath his already heated cheeks.

“Heh. Kiss gotcha all bothered did it?” the scrapper accurately, and proudly, surmised.

Quentin hid his surely reddened face from view and mumbled out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“Relax love,” David seductively uttered, the man moving to crouch beside him and then offering him a toothy grin with an accompanying wink. “Ya ‘ave ‘at affect on me too.”

Quentin merely hummed in reply before gulping anxiously at the images the brute’s comment induced. It was flattering, and ever so slightly embarrassing, to be thought of in such a manner, but he tried not to raise his expectations too high. He and David had barely been official with whatever this relationship was; hence, there was no telling what the scrapper expected out of it. Judging by the older male’s sensual remark however, Quentin had to assume sex was one likely aspect, something which he was neutral about. He was certainly not opposed to the idea, but if he constantly kept thinking of Freddy…

“Shut the fuck up,” he verbally scolded himself for constantly bringing up the dream demon.

“Wha’ was ‘at?”

“N-Nothing,” Quentin immediately stuttered out, “I, umm, what’re you doing out here anyways?”

“Lookin’ for you,” David declared and then thrusted a thumb to his chest. “Our fellow mates ‘ave me playin’ messenger.”

“Messenger?” Now what? Hopefully the scrapper did not seek him out purely to pass along more obnoxious criticisms and vexed opinions.

David acknowledged his question with a short hum before saying, “They wanted ta apologize for ‘eir behaviour at the fire. Th—”

“I don’t blame them,” Quentin speedily interrupted, his outburst voiced mostly out of comprehension but also to evade the infernal conversation topic. “I know they’re angry with me, but I also know that they’re all on edge now ‘cause of what the Entity told them.”

The older male clicked his tongue purposefully and added, “But they’re still worried ‘bout you.”

Folding his arms across his torso, Quentin murmured a weak, “They don’t  _need_  to worry about me.”

“Yer right,” David admitted rather easily, the comment causing Quentin to raise an eyebrow in suspicion, “but they  _wanna_  worry ‘bout you, whether ya like it or not.”

“I noticed… and I’m grateful for their concern,” he kindly reassured before adding a resolute, “but they don’t have to worry about me  _all_  the time. Especially not now.”

“And ‘ey don’t,” the scrapper plainly stated, “so stop worryin’ ‘bout ‘em worrin’ ‘bout you. If we chuck up fr—”

“‘Chuck up?’”

“Puke,” David elaborated. “If we puke from worryin’, it’s on us, not you.”

Simple, basic logic. And yet Quentin felt like a fool for not embracing it sooner. After all, telling a person not to worry probably was not the most productive thing to do. It played into the old saying ‘easier said than done’ and boy did it apply to a great many aspects in life. Well, fuck easy. It may cause him some serious grief, but he was determined to accept the worry thrown his way and not dwell negatively on it—at least not too negatively.

Giving the brawler a reassuring nod and a warm smile, Quentin uttered a firm, “Okay.”

“Good,” David replied, hazel-green orbs sparkling in the fluorescent lighting alongside the man’s dazzling smile. “Anyways I’ll, uh, leave ya to it ‘en. Sorry ‘gain ta… y’know.”

“Wait!” Quentin swiftly called out to prevent the scrapper from leaving. “David, I... I need your help with something.”

“‘at so?” the other male slowly voiced, his tone indicating possible shock at hearing such a request.

“Do you mind, I mean,” he tried to express smoothly, “could you watch over me... while I sleep?”

“While ya sleep?” David reiterated in confusion. “But, yer medal—”

“Has yet to be tested,” Quentin explained, “and I’d prefer to have someone close by just in case.”

“I thought ya tested it durin’ yer last trial?”

“Freddy was the killer then. He can’t be in two places at once,” he clarified while praying that his knowledge was accurate, “so I was able to sleep just fine. And I  _don’t_  wanna talk about the trial—”

“Wasn’t gonna pry,” David instantly proclaimed with palms raised in defence, “just... I’m ‘ere when ya wanna talk.”

“You… you talk?” he sassed with good-hearted sarcasm, his finger pointing towards the scrapper to emphasize the dramatic effect. “Who’re you and what’ve you done with David?”

“Cheeky little bugger,” David playfully chided and made to grasp Quentin in a headlock but stopped himself short.

Not understanding what the other was doing, or the pained expression now directed his way, Quentin worriedly asked, “What’s wrong?”

David silently shook his head and then scrubbed a palm over his frustrated face. What the hell? Did David  _not_  want to touch him all of a sudden? Well, that was saddening, but it did kickstart his brain into critical thinking mode. Recollecting recent events, it occurred to Quentin that David had been less outward, less carefree and touchy-feely, with him after their time together in the dreamworld with Freddy. Aside from their kiss, the older male seemed rather hesitant to touch him at all. Was David uneasy, or maybe even repulsed, with the idea of touching him because of what he had done to the scrapper in his nightmare?

“Are-Are you thinking about before?” Quentin softly questioned. “In the dreamworld? Is that why you’re…”

A tight, angry nod was presented to him in return shortly afterwards. Goddamn; this was not going to work after all.

“M-Maybe we… maybe we shouldn’t do this. Be together I mean,” he clarified with moisture rapidly pooling in his orbs. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, and I don’t want you to be afraid of touching m—”

“M’not ‘fraid,” David harshly responded, the brute’s arms launching forward to embrace him while the man’s face went to lodge itself into the crevice of his neck. “M’not ‘fraid.”

It sounded more like the scrapper was trying to convince himself rather than reassure Quentin of his mounting fears. He had sent the nightmarish incident to die off in the darkest corner of his mind—though clearly it was capable of resurfacing. However, David apparently did not, or maybe could not, and if the brute was unable to recover from his emotional trauma, how were they ever going to move forward?

“David,” he sorrowfully spoke—though maintained an outward neutral tone of voice—while patting the other male on the back, “it’s okay. You don’t need to torture yourself f—”

“Shut it,” David aggressively spat and then savagely molded his full lips to Quentin’s.

Momentarily stunned by the forceful gesture, he eventually returned the firm pressure. David was clearly hurting but, despite comprehending how delicate this moment was, Quentin wanted to give the brute what he needed. Additionally, since he desired so immensely to accept and reciprocate those urgent and needy kisses, he did just that with gusto. Every insistent press, every clash of their lips and teeth left him a little more flustered. At the feel of a tongue probing for unrestricted access to his mouth, Quentin eagerly parted the way. Deep groans accompanied his breathy gasps as their tongues brushed along one another in a slick, satisfying caress. It was so fucking good. A minute or so of this and his lungs started screaming for air. Thus, he reluctantly detached himself from the wonderful contact and rested his forehead against the equally breathless male before him.

David eyed him rather mischievously before saucily whispering, “Lemme ‘elp ya out.”

Quentin went to vocalize his confusion, to inquire about what the scrapper was referring to, until he noticed a second problem manifesting below. For fuck’s sake! He had just satisfied it, and now it was back? Obviously this should be a normal occurrence among males, especially those his age, but it was abnormal for him given his infrequency of managing it—not to mention embarrassing due to his lack of self-control. So don’t control it, his mind threw out usefully to which he internally rolled his eyes at. A lack of restraint and tact were two flavours that did not mix well in the same energy drink.

Diverting his vision to the grass, Quentin bashfully stated, “You don’t have t—”

“Quen,” David sharply uttered, the man cupping Quentin’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet, “please.”

Frowning at the other, he was tempted to turn down the offer but belatedly realized there was something more to David’s insistence. Understanding the hidden message portrayed in the scrapper’s fierce gaze, Quentin lightly nodded and allowed the other male to maneuver him into a convenient position.

Walking him over to an adjacent tree trunk, David guided him to sit at the base of it. Next, the man then crouched down and reached forward to deftly remove the obstructions blocking Quentin’s stiffening member.

With a gruff grunt of supposed approval, and not at all revolted by the dried and flaking jizz present, David grabbed the root of the boy’s length and then instantly shallowed the entirety of it.

The suddenness of his member being encased in a warm, squishy cavern forced a choked moan to squeeze out of his throat. Evidently, David was not in the mood to prolong the suspense, or maybe the other merely wanted him to finish quickly because—Oh fuck! Quentin was already close to cumming and he had barely lasted twenty _seconds_. Mentally bolstering his endurance, he forced his body to indulge in the rare pleasure being offered for a while longer.

“Ha… ah... D-D-David, ah!” he loudly whined out.

One hand rose up to gently hold the scrapper’s head in place while his fingers threaded through the short, dark taupe strands there. His sullied hand, or the back of it more accurately, was shoved into his mouth to stifle his high-pitched sounds.

Glancing up at him, David released his engorged cock to slap his fist away from his mouth, and then roughly said, “Don’t. Lemme ‘ear ya scream.”

“I—GAH!” he violently shouted when the scrapper engulfed his member once more, slimy tongue energetically swirling all over his heated flesh. “D-David, y-you—Ah! Fuck! You’re s-so… gah!”

Perhaps encouraged by his jumbled and incoherent speech, David increased the speed of his ministrations. The brute’s head bobbed up and down—equivalent to a springy bobble-head—while the other’s mouth rigorously sucked his dick like a high-powered vacuum cleaner. His brain simultaneously short-circuited posthaste and all thoughts of resistance burst into imaginary clouds of black, puffy smoke.

Trying to warn the other of his impending release, Quentin clutched David’s hair in a vice and whimpered out a shrilly garbled, “Sh-Shit! Ha! D-David... I-I’m g—Ah! G-Gonna...”

Screaming the first half of David’s name, Quentin succumbed to the overwhelming stimulation, the incredible sensation ricocheting throughout his whole body. His cock fired several ropes of his essence which the scrapper eagerly guzzled down all the while keeping those hazel-green orbs focused exclusively on his face.

Sated and exhausted, Quentin slumped weightlessly against the tree trunk and waited for the whiteness to disappear from the edges of his sight.

“Geez...” he trailed off to breathlessly pant before continuing with, “you’re… you’re a monster.”

David chuckled at his comment, wiped his lips on the cuff of his jacket sleeve and cheekily remarked, “Too much for ya?”

“No fucking way,” Quentin voiced swiftly and with an ample amount of enthusiasm. “It was awesome!”

Giving him a flirty wink, David boldly claimed, “‘appy ta  _blow_  yer brains out.”

“Ugh,” he groaned and instinctively cringed at the awful pun, “don’t ruin the moment.”

A sudden yawn from Quentin broke through the short silence which descended between the pair.

“Reckon it’s time for ‘at nap now,” David uttered knowingly.

“Mmhmm, yeah,” he blindly agreed while awkwardly stuffing his dick back into the confines of his jeans. Blearily remembering the other male and his potential problem, Quentin mumbled out, “But what ‘bout you? D’you wan—”

The scrapper interjected by looping the teen’s belt back into place, ruffling his sweaty curls affectionately, and then admitting, “I already took care of myself earlier.”

“Y’sure?” He felt guilty for being unable to return the gesture, but a content nod had him relaxing into the jagged bark prodding at his clothed back.

“‘Sides,” David stated confidently, “‘ere’ll be plenty of time later for more.”

“M’kay, if you’re sure,” Quentin murmured sleepily while the older male shifted their positions around.

When the rustling of fabric died down, he briefly opened his heavy eyelids to discovered that the scrapper was now leaning against the tree. Quentin, on the other hand, was splayed out over top of David’s bare chest and the other male’s jacket was draped over the both of them. Okay, now David was pampering him a little too much. He had to make a point of returning the favor sometime soon.

“Get some rest love,” the brute whispered sweetly into his unruly hair. “I’ll be ‘ere when ya wake up.”

“Thanks,” Quentin muttered faintly, his legs stretching outward to tangle with David’s while he greedily nuzzled his cheek into the warm skin beneath him.

Despite feeling a touch anxious about sleeping, Quentin could not suppress the lazy grin tugging at his lips in response to how happy he was. Permitting the beckoning call of sleep to claim him, he closed his weary eyes and wordlessly prayed for a dreamless rest and to wake up just like this.


	33. A Hero In Our Midst

David observed the crackling flames of their campfire with a neutral attitude, his fingers curling a little possessively around the sleeping boy in his arms. He inwardly shuddered from the thought of the ever-constant blaze extinguishing. Should such a tragedy come to pass however, at least there were other ways to keep warm.

Redirecting his attention to Quentin, David gently brushed off the teen’s beanie and then lightly mused those adorable chocolate curls of his. He occasionally snuck glances at Quentin’s face which held the same expression every time he checked: peaceful and relaxed. It was a pleasant sight to behold, the image delicately burning onto the filmstrip that was his memory.

“How’s he doing?” David overheard Claudette whisper as the botanist softly crouched at his side.

“Sleepin’ like a log,” he concisely replied in a hushed tone, his fingers resuming their ministrations while thoroughly relishing in the softness of the other male’s locks.

After Quentin had successfully slept nightmare-free the first time around, he encouraged his love to rest whenever possible. Fortunately, whether by coincidence or otherwise, the Entity had not summoned the boy for a trial in a long while either which granted Quentin ample time for slumber.

Each time he had the opportunity of watching the boy rest, David was both comforted and fearful. Lingering doubt, an annoyingly festering thing, clung to the back of his brain like a helpless insect entangled in a spider’s web. The confidence he had in regards to the magical blessing was more for Quentin’s benefit as opposed to his own. Nevertheless, displaying any signs of worry or doubt was sure to cause Quentin unnecessary stress which the other absolutely _did not_ need.

More than anything, armed with the ability to sleep soundly, David wished for the teen to  _want_  to rest—possibly enjoy it too. Quentin had always been incredibly paranoid and anxious about catching some winks which plainly showed on his outward appearance. Hence, for the sake of the other male, David was prepared to spout off whatever was necessary to keep the boy’s spirits high.

Let the record stand that he believed the medallion was working as intended; however, David was merely concerned about the duration of the blessing. It was the one thing he forgot to inquire about, and now... perhaps it was best not knowing. Besides, Quentin had begun instilling a fair amount of faith in the mystical power of his altered trinket so David was content to follow the teen’s example.

“Still no nightmares or anything?” the botanist questioned, the woman now fiddling with Quentin’s headgear in her lap.

“None,” David muttered gratefully. “I ‘ope it stays ‘at way.”

All Quentin ever spoke of was a black void, a blank space which stretched on forever and ever into the unknown. It was nothing elaborate or interesting in David’s opinion, but such dull dreams were infinitely better than nightmares with that mangled wanker.

Eyeing Claudette curiously, he pointed at the flower tucked behind her ear and asked, “‘at still the same rose Quen gave ya?”

“Hmm, oh, yeah,” the botanist quietly answered, the young woman gingerly taking hold of the flower to examine. “It’s amazing. I think it’s been eight or nine trials now and it still hasn’t dried out,” she declared with a smile aimed at the rose. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen a cut flower last so long without shrivelling up.”

David hummed thoughtfully and extended a careful hand outward to finger the white petals. As predicated, he noted that their softness matched their untarnished colour perfectly. He tried not to dwell on the implications surrounding the tiny flower, but he was admittedly both curious and disturbed.

While Quentin did not explicitly say, David guessed that the rose came from Krueger which then implied something having transpired between the two of them. Dismissing Bill’s warnings from the forefront of his mind, he had given the boy the benefit of the doubt.

Despite the intermittent urge to beat the information out of the resilient teenager, he had to trust Quentin. Similar to what he tried to do in the past, if the boy wanted to talk about something, then he was going to listen—hopefully without exploding in a fit of fiery rage. Then again, now that they were boyfriends, or whatever label applied to their relationship, perhaps there existed another method of persuasion at his disposal.

Erotic images were quick to cycle through his cranium, the scenarios gradually causing his cock to inflate excitedly. Blinking rapidly, he released a strangled cough upon realizing where he was and promptly willed his horniness away. Things to ponder when Claudette and company were not in such close proximity.

Opting to switch gears before the botanist suspected something amiss, David hastily asked, “‘ow’s Meg ‘n’ Ace doin’?”

Those two had not been taking the prospect of permanent captivity in this place very well. They all had their own individual grievances about it really, but some were more resigned or defiant against it. Quentin, for example, did not wish to leave if it meant Freddy too would be unleashed upon their home world once more. And David understood that well enough—respected the boy’s declaration too though his support for it was lacking—but he himself was not completely hellbent on staying here for eternity.

“Ace seems to be a little, uh, calmer now and in touch with the group. He’s also flirty again, so I think that’s a good sign,” she uttered with an uncertain shrug.

“Gotta admire ‘at silver tongue of ‘is.”

Claudette softly giggled at his remark and then weaved the lush rose back into her dark locks. After setting her hands into her lap again, her expression started to veer away from happy.

“And Meg...” the botanist trailed off momentarily, her sorrowful gaze averting to Quentin as she whispered, “she needs a little more time. Sh-She’s just… she misses her mother.”

David grunted in understanding and then reached out to take the woman’s hand in his own to which she gratefully accepted.

Meg mentioned her mother had taken ill before she was abducted by the Entity. Christ the speedster did not even know if the woman was alive anymore—though Meg instantly shut down that possibility. In an effort to reunite with her mother, the runner had been frequently trekking into the deepest parts of the forest surrounding their campground. According to her girlfriend, Meg was apparently determined to discover an exit of sorts hidden in the fog which, given how they arrived here, made somewhat decent sense.

Poor Nea though. The tag artist fell into a kind of depression every time her angry and hostile girlfriend dismissed her in favour of finding a means of escape. David had once been apt to lamp some awareness back into their fiery runner but eventually decided to leave the lass be. Less good was sure to arise from his interference, and his will to fight was waning as of late. David might blame that on complacency or focusing solely on Quentin, but it mattered little to him all the same. He still had plenty of fight left inside of him, the surge of rage-induced adrenaline remaining dormant until the time was right.

Thinking back to the whole captivity issue, he idly recollected the people he had on the outside. His bar mates had probably long since forgotten about him, the lads likely believing him dead from picking the wrong brawl. David doubted his father would even bat an eyelash over his disappearance while his mother… his mother was the only person he might wish to see. And likely the only person he had to return home to—assuming she was still kicking of course.

Honestly, how much time had truly passed since he had been here?

Claudette gently tapped his forearm to attract his attention before hesitantly asking, “H-How’ve you been with, umm, all of this?”

“Managin’.”

At her unamused look, David sighed and added a little more detail.

“I’d kill for a lotta stiff drinks and bein’ able to see the sun,” David quietly admitted with a touch of humor and then peered down at Quentin again. “But it’s not all bad. Wha’ ‘bout you?”

The botanist stared at the sleeping teen for a moment and then turned to face the fire. Arcing shadows danced across the contours of her face while she confessed, “I miss a lot of things. My parents, college, my science experiments. I… I just feel so alone.”

Alone? “We’re right ‘ere with ya lass,” he reassured in a semi-confused tone, “and Dwight too.”

Claudette hunched her shoulder awkwardly at the mention of their leader to which he quirked a suspicious eyebrow at. However, instead of indulging his comment, she shakily professed, “I-I don’t want to end up like th-those other people here. B-Before us, I mean. Th-The ones the Entity killed or, or—”

“They could’ve escaped,” David offered though he knew his words were slightly forced.

Claudette sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, her expression appearing lost or in pain before she muttered a monotone, “Maybe.”

“Well we’re gonna escape!” David firmly stressed. Playing the hopeful saint was by no means his forte, but he was utterly fed up with the depressive negativity among his fellow mates. “We’re gonna make it, and when we do, I’m not leavin’ without you, or Quen, or anybod—”

The botanist, with clenched teeth, swiftly silenced his rant with a palm and discreetly eyed Quentin. Oops; he belatedly realized he had been yelling. Casting a sheepish look downward, David saw the boy scrunch up his eyebrows before shifting about minutely. When the teen eventually settled, David breathed an inner sigh of relief.

Providing the female an appreciative nod, Claudette slowly retracted her hand and then muttered a soft, “Thank you.”

Mere seconds after expressing her thanks, a thick fog manifested around the both of them, the wispy air almost hungrily encasing their bodies in a chilling embrace.

“Shite, I—”

“We’ll take over,” a feminine voice informed from behind.

David had barely registered the voice when Quentin was suddenly being pried, albeit tenderly, from his arms by Laurie and Jake. He shielded a mischievous grin from view at the saboteur’s dishevelled hair and the babysitter’s slightly crooked blouse. At least some people were living life to the fullest.

He gratefully watched the two of them maneuver the boy across their respective laps—Laurie cushioning Quentin’s head while Jake propped up the teen’s legs—before his sight was engulfed by the Entity’s infernal darkness.

Once the mist dissipated, David surveyed the area to spy out several clusters of tall grass and reeds, decaying trees, and fresh gooey mud seeping into his shoes. Spitefully kicking the muddy goo off of his feet, he instantly began repairing the conveniently placed, dirt-caked generator before him. There really was no realm he preferred, but the swamp certainly ranked lower than the others out there.

His time spent crouching in front of the machine was mostly uneventful except for the one time The Cannibal came by and pursued him around the centre of the map. David had cheerily taunted the killer for being incapable of landing a single hit on him. He knew he acted dangerously cocky during their chase, but he was high on the rush of outmaneuvering the apron-clad man. Sadly, before getting the chance to throw a wad of mud at The Cannibal, the fat bastard ended his pathetic pursuit when the distinct pinging noise of two generators sounded off.

Taking a moment to viciously mock the retreating killer, David had victoriously sauntered back over to his unfinished generator. The Cannibal apparently damaged the machine sometime during their chase, or perhaps afterwards, but the thing was still three-fourths of the way completed. Working through the remainder of the mind-numbing repairs, two agonized cries simultaneously echoed out overhead.

“Dammit,” he hissed beneath his breath. So much for a clean sweep this trial.

With his business wrapped up, David headed in the broad direction of the screams. His exploration led him across the map until several whimpers ultimately drew his gaze to the ominous shack which appeared in every realm.

“Great,” he grumbled acidly. Of all the places to be hooked…

Scanning the environment for any signs of the killer, David carefully made him way down the wide staircase. Each rung squeaked under his weight as he descended into the disgusting belly of the basement. Rounding the wall, he immediately spotted Dwight and Claudette hanging from opposite facing hooks. Despite their predicament, the leader and the botanist were furiously arguing with each other, the both of them seemingly oblivious to his presence.

“Oi!” David perplexedly shouted at the bickering pair. “The ‘ell’re ya—GAH!”

Noticing the revving noise of a chainsaw too late, David wailed in pain and collapsed in a heap when serrated teeth cut directly into his vulnerable back. Enraged by the surprise attack, he cranked his neck to the culprit and growled indignantly at the man. Judging from the direction, it appeared as though The Cannibal had been lurking off to the side in a little alcove, the killer lying in wait for someone to come and save the others.

“Gotta camp ta get yer kills fatass?” he bitterly spat with his irritation matched solely by the pain radiating from his flesh wound.

The Cannibal merely snickered at him and then harshly thrusted a dirty boot into the back of his skull, the excruciating blow crushing his nose into the grimy floor with a disgusting crunch. Two more hard kicks were administered in a heartbeat, each one flattening his nose against his face and intensifying the ringing in his eardrums. David blearily heard Claudette and Dwight begging the killer to stop and, miraculously, the man did.

After a painstakingly tense moment of silence, he felt The Cannibal grasp his midsection and then unceremoniously chuck him onto an available hook—one which resided between his two others friends. He choked back the violent scream from having his shoulder skewered in order to rob the killer of any further gratification. Goddammit! He was going to enjoy lamping these idiots—Dwight, Claudette, or perhaps both—for this rubbish.

“Are you okay David?” Dwight worriedly questioned after the killer scurried out of the basement. For some odd reason, The Cannibal chose not to wait around for their fourth member.

“M’just grand Dwight,” David answered with hot sarcasm and then spat out a thick wad of blood at his dangling feet. “Thanks for askin’. Oh, and I ‘ppreciate the warnin’ too.”

“I’m so sorry David,” Claudette genuinely professed, “I didn’t know you were d—”

“I noticed ‘at,” he snappily remarked. “Wha’ the ‘ell’s goin’ on with you two?”

“Nothing,” the pair answered in unison, the female sounding sharper while the male sounded exhausted.

Of course it was fucking _nothing_. David let out an exaggerated sigh before muttering a peeved, “For fuck’s sake.” To complicate his bizarre and painful situation, the Entity decided to crash their party by striking its tendrils at the prone Claudette and Dwight. Luckily for them, but maybe not for him, both of his friends managed to block the fatal blow just in the nick of time. Out of petty spitefulness, he thoughtlessly suggested, “Why not let go? Assumin’ we all don’t die down ‘ere—”

“Cl-Claud,” Dwight interjected while struggling to repel the Entity. “I-I wasn’t trying to—”

“Dwight, p-please, just… just tell me why,” the botanist gloomily implored through grunts of exertion. “W-Why have you been so distant with me? What did I do wrong?”

“Y-You didn’t!” their leader speedily defended. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

David, now begrudgingly opting to listen to the conversation, overheard Claudette sniffle before faintly uttering a broken-sounding, “Then why? Why’re you—”

“Because you deserve someone better than _me!_ ” Dwight brutally shouted, the reverberation of his voice bouncing off of the walls which emphasized his point. “W-With what the Entity told us and everything that’s happened between The Nightmare and Quentin, we were all torn up. I-I wasn’t capable of helping you. I couldn’t comfort you, I couldn’t make you smile, or-or help you see the brighter side of the problem. All I did was watch you _cry_. I… I can’t be the man you _need_ me to be.”

Un-fucking-believable. David refused to prevent his lips from morphing into a disgusted glower.

“M’not tough like David,” the leader resumed in the wake of their silence, “or fearless like Bill, or anything else like the others. I’m just a coward, a spineless _coward_ who can’t even protect you let alone be your shoulder to cry on.”

David partially flinched when Claudette started to sob soon afterwards, the woman mumbling out a garbled ‘idiot’ in the process. It was a sentiment which he was inclined to whole-heartedly agree with. He might be a little blind to select details, but clearly the botanist was not shallow. She seemed ill-concerned with things like strength or courage. Rather, given her personality, she was drawn to outward sources of kindness and compassion to balance what she gave out to the rest of them.

Besides that, everything Dwight had just said was a load of shite. What happened to their leader growing a pair of fucking balls? Christ, this was absolutely pathetic.

“Ya just keep tellin’ yerself ‘at rubbish,” David directed aggressively at their foolish leader, “see wha’ ‘appen—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a new voice chimed in, “but I hate being the odd man out.”

“Ace,” David breathed out in blessed relief as the gambler began unhooking the three of them, “yer a sight for sore eyes mate.”

“Apologies for not being here sooner,” the gambler stated, “but I wasn’t keen on handing the killer a quadruple jackpot.” After rescuing Claudette from ravenous tendrils, the gambler caressed the botanist’s cheek and soothingly whispered, “Don’t cry sweetness. You’re much too precious to wilt.”

“C-Claud,” Dwight feebly stuttered out, “I—”

The woman in question waved a haphazard hand at the leader and then hastily tugged Ace upstairs by his jacket sleeve without uttering a single word. He internally applauded Claudette for leaving Dwight to twist in the wind in this case—the woman demonstrating her ‘tough love’ so to speak. Now their leader needed, or rather was forced, to do something productive about it otherwise their relationship was going to tank.

David pivoted around to fire off a burning glare at the distraught Dwight whom had yet to move, the prat seemingly fixated on the pool of blood at his feet.

“C’mon,” David impatiently grumbled to the immobile figure while shoving the other male towards the stairs, “get yer arse movin’.”

Dwight went without resistance, the man mindlessly ascending into the upper level of the crumbling cabin. Detecting heavy footsteps, too heavy to be friendly, David speedily yanked the leader through the opposite doorway and into a small nook concealed by foliage and the tall corner of an exit gate.

Wordlessly warning Claudette and Ace, whom were squatting to their left, to remain quiet, David observed The Cannibal angrily eyeing their blood trails shattered around the shack. The killer was going to be completely livid when he entered the basement and found them gone.

Ensuring the coast was clear for the time being, the four of them stealthily proceed to an adjacent corner to avoid being discovered by their blood trails. Once safety tucked away behind a cluster of trees and rocks, David began tending to Dwight while Ace tended to Claudette.

Awkward and heated glances were exchanged throughout the healing process which progressed in relative silence. His mind continuously screamed at him to hit something, or someone, but his body resisted the incredibly tempting desire. If anyone warranted a smack or two however, it was Dwight, and he might have indulged his little craving if the circumstances were different. Claudette, though saddened and potentially angry with the man, would likely start crying again if he tried to pummel their leader. Still, if Dwight spewed anymore crap…

With her shoulder neatly bandaged, Claudette shooed David away from Dwight to take over. Cocking a marginally surprised eyebrow, David allowed her to do as she pleased while Ace shuffled closer to patch him up.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Ace tutted in disapproval at his surely disfigured nose. “What’d you do to win this beauty?”

“Just fix it… please,” David added when the gambler merely stared him from beneath his shades.

Offering him a small chuckle, Ace pinched his broken nose between both thumbs and cracked it back into place. David gritted his teeth and hissed out a gruff curse but nodded at the other male in thanks. Next, he carefully removed the clothing concealing his torso. Cold air abruptly whipped across the stinging gash on his back which caused him to involuntarily stiffen. Groaning in annoyance, David did his best to block out the chill while he balled up his blood-stained undershirt to press against the underside of his leaky nose.

While his remaining wounds were attended to, Claudette suddenly said, “There’s a reason you’re our leader Dwight. You may not be this or that,” she quietly expressed with an open palm waving to the left and then to the right, “but you’re ambitious. You’re always going the extra mile to prove yourself which inspires the rest of us to do the same. You may stumble from time to time, but you find a way to redeem yourself, even when you don’t have to.”

“But,” Dwight weakly protested, “I’m a cow—”

“We’re _all_ cowards!” she violently snapped though miraculously managed to maintain a hushed tone of voice. “We’re all afraid of something, but we’re not alone. And you’re _perfect_ just the way you are. So let’s just… just _stop_ avoiding me. I don’t wanna lose you, so please, don’t shut me out.”

Their leader looked positively stupefied by the information but eventually managed a more-or-less solid nod.

Ace gingerly cleared his throat, extended a palm towards Claudette and asked, “Would the lovely lady care to accompany me? The generator northeast of the killer’s shack is almost finished… assuming the killer hasn’t kicked it yet.”

Right; there were still two generators left to repair. Additionally, while their argument appeared to be resolved, the gambler probably had the correct idea about separating the recently quarreling pair. After giving Dwight a peculiar look, the botanist took Ace by the hand and the two of them hurried off to their destination.

David briefly examined his bindings before tossing his undershirt in the mud and redonning his jacket. When Dwight failed to move for a second time, David took it upon himself to steer the man to the northwest. In retrospect, to avoid aimlessly wandering all over the swamp, he should have inquired about the locations of the completed generators. Oh well; they were bound to encounter an inactive one eventually.

Speak of the devil. Spying out an idle machine shrouded by tall grass, David plopped Dwight on one side while he took up residence on the other.

As each male tinkered with the generator, David started to say, “Dwi—”

“I know, I know,” Dwight hastily snapped, “I’m an idiot!”

“And?” he calmly pressured.

“And I’m going to make it up to Claudette,” the leader uttered and then added a nearly inaudible, “somehow.”

“And?”

Dwight peered over the machine to anxiously ask, “W-What else is there?”

“ _And_ ,” David emphasized pointedly, “call yerself a coward again, and I’ll lamp ya ‘til ya can’t see straight. Ya said before ‘at you were gonna be strong, so be strong! If not for yerself, then at least for her.”

Eyes lighting up in comprehension, the leader eagerly nodded and belted out a confident, “Right!”

“And a piece of advice for ya: she don’t care ‘bout bravery all too much,” he helpfully asserted. “In fact, I think it bothers her when we try ta protect her.”

“But... I want to protect her.”

Smiling proudly at the other male, David then toothily asked, “‘en wha’s stoppin’ ya?”

Dwight went to say something only to shut his mouth a second later. Brows scrunched up in contemplation, the man peered left and right before he uttered a firm and steely, “Nothing.”

Now the other male was finally catching on. “Exactly.”

Focusing back on the repair work, he and Dwight quickly finished up while an encouraging ping blared out from across the realm. All five generators fully powered, the two men proceeded to the nearest exit gate and, thankfully, their machine was positioned fairly close to one. Approaching the imposing steel door, David opted to hold down the lever while Dwight acted as a lookout.

“D-David,” the leader faintly voiced when the gate was roughly ninety percent powered, “c-can I ask you something?”

“‘Course mate,” David replied while his orbs remained glued on the illuminating bulbs above the lever.

“Are you and Quen—”

“GUYS!” a male voice frantically hollered out right as the steel door began squealing open.

Whirling around, David witnessed Ace and Claudette, both newly injured, sprinting for dear life with the killer right on their arses. His eyes widened exponentially when The Cannibal closed in on their fleeing teammates, the killer revving his chainsaw in preparation to mow the both of them down in one shot.

Seeing the impending attack, David attempted to race past the pair to take the blow but Dwight forcefully shoved him back against the switch. The leader charged forth with an ungodly speed and, utilizing his momentum, grasped both Claudette and Ace by their arms and yanked the two forward. With the injured duo out of harm’s way, Dwight was instantly met with the sharp teeth of The Cannibal’s chainsaw.

“DWIGHT!” Claudette shrieked in horror as the man fell onto the muddy ground with a pained shout.

Shaking himself out of his stunned state, David urged the wounded pair to escape while he rushed forward to aid their fallen leader.

Once Dwight was heaved onto the killer’s burly shoulder, and noticing David's approach, the man bellowed out a powerful, “JUST LEAVE!”

Like hell David was going to do that! Ignoring the leader’s pleas, he did his best to body block the fatass from any hooks in close proximity. The Cannibal, with a dark expression peeking through the voids in his mask, savagely swung his sledge with a vengeance. Bloke was likely mithered by losing out on his three-man sacrifice in the basement. As such, the killer was determined to secure at least one sacrifice, but he refused to give up.

Crouching in front of the killer’s intended target, David hissed out an exasperated, “C’mon mate, break free!”

Christ, did this bastard have an iron grip on Dwight or something? Distracted for but a second, a well-timed swing caught David in the shoulder blade—his arm feeling as though it might have popped out of its socket—and had him staggering sideways. This motion allowed the killer to easily throw the downed leader onto the metal contraption, the rusted metal effortlessly jabbing through flesh and muscle tissue.

As he witnessed Dwight be mercilessly devoured by the Entity, two hands were grabbing each of his arms and tugging him towards the open gate. Reciting a colourful variety of curse words at The Cannibal, David allowed both Ace and Claudette—now fully healed—to push him forward into the lead. Looking back every so often to ensure the others did not lag behind, he and his two remaining friends passed beyond the foggy barrier at the same moment the killer launched one last barrage of chainsaw swings.

Ignoring the stab of guilt mingling in with the physical pain burning at his shoulder blade, David idly pondered how strangely this trial had concluded. So far as he had seen, this was the first time Dwight outright sacrificed himself for someone else. It was a bittersweet revelation and yet, despite his irritation with the leader for his unnecessary sacrifice, he was impressed with Dwight for his unhesitant actions. Although, how Claudette was going to react to this back at the fire was the real question.

\--------------------

“God,” Quentin, finally having rejoined the land of the living, exclaimed upon seeing his undoubtably battered and bloodied form emerge from the treeline, “what happened?”

“Just an angry killer mithered over losin’ his kills,” David replied while the boy critically inspected his body, “and some trouble in paradise.”

“What d’you mean?” the teen curiously inquired, his hazy blue orbs glistening in the vibrant light. “What trouble?”

“Well…” David trailed off when he caught sight of Dwight boldly entering the campground. The leader took a minute to scan the area before strolling right up to Claudette, hauling the startled botanist into his enthusiastic arms and passionately kissing her with uncharacteristic intensity. Smiling at their tender moment, David whistled at the scene while others threw out their own noises or simply gawked at the pair.

Claudette broke away from the contact first, the woman partly misty-eyed but appearing otherwise relieved and happy. Dwight smiled merrily in response before Feng and Ace invaded their little moment—the gamer likely going to try and coax out some juicy details.

“Hey,” David heard Quentin utter in an effort to gain his attention, “ _what happened?_ ”

Eyeing the stunning beauty—no longer plagued by the physical effects of sleep deprivation—in front of him, he leaned in to plant a powerful kiss on the boy’s savoury lips. Unlike with Claudette and Dwight, their lip lock went on for quite some time, and David was even starting to get a little handsy.

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Quentin chided breathlessly when David attempted to sneak a hand beneath his T-shirt. “At least lemme treat your shoulder first.”

“Or we could just sk—”

“David. Go sit down,” the boy repeated firmly, his unwavering stare strong enough to penetrate tempered steel. All too quickly however, Quentin plastered on a playful smirk and then cruelly added, “or no blowjob later.”

Ouch… well damn. Cheekily little bastard, but bless him though. Sensing the futility of arguing over the issue, David humoured Quentin but not before voicing an inquisitive, “So I’ll get one later?”

“Meh,” the boy muttered with a lazy shrug and then offered him a cheeky grin, “if you tell me what happened... and if you behave.”


	34. Too Close For Comfort

“And… done,” Quentin happily declared when he finished dressing David’s shoulder. Majority of the injury consisted of blunt forced trauma, but there had been a slight gash to deal with.

Rolling his shoulder experimentally, David redonned his tattered jacket and stated, “Told ya it wasn’t ‘at bad.”

“Bad enough,” Quentin plainly countered while subtly stealing peeks at the exposed strip of muscled chest. David had a strange habit of losing his undershirt during trials but he was not about to complain.

Stowing his medical kit beside one of the campfire logs for future use, Quentin allowed himself to be tugged down and embraced by the burly male. Leaning contentedly into David’s unbandaged side, he looked onward in the direction of their beautiful fire. However, instead of gazing at bright flames, his eyes shifted to the talking pair close by.

“I know this’ll sound weird,” Quentin started to mutter while staring at Claudette and Dwight, “but I think they really needed to step outside of their comfort zones.”

David hummed in confusion, the scrapper likely trying to decipher what he was referring to before eventually asking, “Wha’ makes ya say ‘at?”

“Dwight needed someone to cast aside his fear and hesitation for,” he explained, “and Claudette needed someone to express her true feelings to.”

“Uh… I get the Dwight part, but ya lost me on Claud.”

Chuckling slightly at the other male, Quentin glanced up at the scrapper to elaborate with, “Claud shows lots of emotions but… she hides alotta them too. As her friends, we only see so much.”

“Don’t we all ‘ide ‘at kinda shite fr—”

“Yeah but we all hide them in  _different_  ways,” he emphasized pointedly, “and she lets Dwight see more than the rest of us.”

“Ya,  _see_  more,” David punctuated sensually which earned the scrapper an elbow jab to the stomach. “‘Suppose ‘at’s true though,” David agreed after recovering from the playful jab, “‘specially since she slapped ‘im this time ‘round too.”

That was a bit of a surprise, yes. Claudette had only slapped him that one time, and now she added a second slap to her record on Dwight. Of course Quentin had missed it on account of being too engrossed with binding David’s wound. Though he did witness the aftermath where a teary-eyed Dwight, despite the botanist’s physical outburst, had eventually plastered on a brilliant megawatt smile. It was probably a minor reckless-idiot-made-me-uselessly-worry-about-him slap and nothing more given their exchanges of hugs and kisses afterwards. David had then yelled at them to get a bush to which everyone else either groaned or laughed at.

Quentin clutched his cross pendant and wordlessly prayed for Claudette’s and Dwight’s continued happiness and understanding of each other. Now he only wished everyone else here had the same blessing—namely Nea and Meg, and possibly Bill. His prayer was cut short by the Entity cocooning his body in a wispy embrace, its unforgettable chill making his hair stand on edge. It was finally happening; he was being summoned to a trial.

“Looks like the Entity wants me to die,” he lightly joked to the scrapper.

David, however, merely shot him an unamused scowl followed by a verbal, “Who says yer gonna die?”

“No one,” Quentin assured the older male after awkwardly clearing his throat. Snuggling into David’s warmth, he pressed a kiss to the man’s tattooed neck and whispered, “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll be ‘ere,” the scrapper uttered with an adorable yawn, the man giving his hair a quick peck before crookedly shoving his grey beanie back over his curls. “Kick the killer’s arse.”

He cocked a humorous brow at David and mumbled out a good-natured, “Yeah right.”

Positioning his headwear back into the correct spot, Quentin took a deep breath and prepared to struggle for his survival once more. The obscuring, frigid fog came and went in three blinks of an eye, and then his orbs grew impossibly large at the sight before him.

There were ashen leaves falling in every direction while the forested environment itself was accented by an unnatural, misty appearance. It was Freddy again, and it seemed as though it was not by mere coincidence. The Entity  _had_  to be pitting him against the dream demon on purpose. This was bad; this was really, really bad.

His nemesis may have shown him kindness before, but Quentin would  _never_  expect—or possibly desire—such niceness again, and especially now that he had not visited the dreamworld in quite some time.

Whipping his head from side-to-side to dispel his musings, he swiftly sprinted into the killer’s shack and tinkered with the inactive generator. Easily selecting two appropriate wires, he struck them together and then promptly yelped from the resulting explosion. He had to find a more pleasant way of waking up.

Without further delay, he speedily retreated from the shabby little shack and dove behind a large rock near one of the exit gates. Given how Quentin was unable to see Freddy while awake, he remained stationary and simply listened for any danger such as: birds cawing, children singing, or shoes scraping against the dirt. Several quiet moments passed, and only when he heard a fellow survivor cry out did he leave the safety of the concealing boulder. The scream originated from far away, probably from the other side of the map judging by the echo. Perhaps he should—

The sound of a generator ping rang out shortly afterwards which too sounded distant in his eardrums. Hence there was another person already nearby to aid their captured teammate and, thus, meant he should be focusing on a machine of his own.

Gulping down the semi-guilty wad of saliva trapped in his windpipe, Quentin roamed the outskirts of the forest for a generator to repair. While the one inside the killer’s shack was an option, he did not want to take the risk of bumping into the dream demon. Odds were Freddy knew it was him that blew up the machine in there so the man might return to it now.

Spying out a generator tucked in between a few wooden walls, he quickly crouched in front of it and got to work. After successfully connecting three wires together, a second agonized cry caught his attention and, like the first, this scream was far off. Should he go for the save? Trust your friends, his mind stubbornly sussed at him, the voice sounding rather annoyed at having to remind him of such a concept.

Yes, he had to trust his friends to handle themselves. Yes, his friends were capable of surviving well enough on their own. However, there were always instances where the killer prevailed—whether by overpowering and outsmarting them, or simply by taking advantage of their infighting. And Freddy had supposedly dispatched his friends with relative ease during their previous encounter. Maybe his intervention was necessary… but he  _really_  did not want to face the man this time around.

Quentin had actually been sleeping—beautiful, peaceful, dreamless and quality slumber—for the longest time in assumedly years, and Freddy was bound to have noticed his absence from the dreamworld by now. Furthermore, he had to believe the dream demon was not in the best mood this trial.

Oh no! Was that Freddy’s plan the entire time: the man targeting his friends first in order to save him for last and then prevent him from leaving the trial?

At the sound of a third scream, he hastily abandoned the nearly repaired machine and muttered an angry, “Fuck!”

He dreaded interacting with the killer, but he was probably the only one capable of effectively distracting Freddy while the others completed the remaining generators. Assuming the dream demon did not ignore him in favour of slaughtering the others. His help would be in vain if Freddy refused to put him to sleep but, if the man truly  _missed_  him, then perhaps Quentin could bait the bastard.

Passing by the main lodge in the centre of the map, his eyelids suddenly began to droop as a familiar lullaby reverberated in his ears. Panicking when he did not see a mangled figure flickering in and out of existence, Quentin raced to the nearest pallet residing between neatly stacked piles of lumber. Extending a hand outward to grip the slab of wood, he simultaneously propelled himself forward while throwing the pallet down just as his environment altered into another. Unfortunately, Freddy managed to slice him across the cheek—barely missing his left eye—a fraction of a second before the pallet was able to connect.

Gently cupping his slashed cheek, Quentin took a short, steadying breath and then pivoted around to confront the killer.

“Oh... look at you,” Freddy commented while seemingly admiring Quentin’s face. “My  _beautiful_  boy.”

Although he violently shuddered at the comment, he was inclined to agree with the man. There had been a couple of instances where he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface: his ghostly pale skin had regained a bit of its old, light beige colour; his orbs no longer appeared haggard and sunken into the depths of his skull; and the blotchy blue-purple bags underneath his eyes were slowly fading away. David also claimed his hair was softer to the touch though he never really noticed. To put it simply, he was gradually recovering stolen fragments of his health.

“I haven’t seen you in such a long time. I wonder why...”

The statement almost sounded like a question, or maybe an accusation, but it—coupled with the man’s prior remark—explicitly implied that Freddy knew he had been sleeping without dreaming. Or something along those lines anyway.

“I...”

He timidly petered off upon viewing the murderous look thrown his way. Freddy now wore a positively livid expression, miscoloured eyes practically alit with an unholy glow while his body radiated a kind of energy Quentin had not felt since their arrival in this world together. The complete one-eighty-degree shift in the other’s mood had him taking a defensive step backwards. Additionally, an inaudible whimper squeaked passed his lips while he stared on at the menacing monster poised to strike.

“Fred—”

The name had not even formed on the tip of his tongue when the dream demon started savagely destroying the safety barrier between them. Ill prepared for such brutality, Quentin made it all of about eight strides before sharp knifes forced him to kiss the earth below. He let out a garbled yell when those godforsaken claws plunged into his right thigh next, the blades lingering in his flesh for but a few seconds before being swiftly retracted.

A palm then gripped his shoulder and spun him around to lie on his back, his wounds despising the new sting from the loose soil contaminating them. Next, the bastard straddled his hips and shot his ungloved hand forth to grasp the column of his throat, the hold not restricting though the threat hung heavily in the air.

“You _can’t_ escape me Quen,” Freddy muttered ominously, glowering eyes boring directly into Quentin’s own. “You know this. Your friends should too, but maybe they need a few…  _remedial_  lessons for the concept to permanently stick. What d’you think?”

“No! Please don’t! It-It was all me, okay. I’ve been avoiding you on my—GAH!”

Knifes stabbing deep into his lower abdomen interrupted his little lie, the first few inches or so of the metallic tips leisurely mingling in with his innards. When Freddy started cruelly twisting the blades around, Quentin weakly clutched at the man’s right wrist with both hands.

“Why’re you lying to me angelfish? I know there’s more to it than that. And I _don’t_ appreciate being avoided,” the dream demon declared with a sneer, the gardener gingerly caressing Quentin’s cheek and purposely brushing his thumb beneath the boy’s eyelid. “It’s very rude, very… inconsiderate of you.”

Those claws then formed a partial fist, each blade severing some piece of intestinal tissue and causing him to cough up an ample amount of blood. Gasping and whining from the horrendous pain, Quentin squeezed Freddy’s wrist tighter but his grip was beginning to slacken from the numbness setting in.

“You can’t sleep without dreaming of _me!_ So _how?_ ” the killer furiously spat while nearly strangling the life out of him. “How’re you d—”

An abrupt pause in pressure piqued his interest enough so where he spared precious energy to observe the vexed man on top of him. Expecting a burning glare to be piercing into his very soul, Quentin instead noticed the man staring intently at a section on his torso. Frowning slightly, he peered down to discover exactly where the man was looking and it was... oh no. The jarring movement from his violent coughing and gagging must have jostled his necklace loose from its resting place beneath his T-shirt. And now Freddy was totally fixated on his medallion.

Quentin moaned in disapproval when his necklace was snatched from him but a gut-wrenching twist to his insides effectively persuaded him from stealing back his cherished trinkets. Dark, blurry spots stained his vision as he blearily heard Freddy growl through the excruciating agony. It was colder now and Quentin found his head lulling weightlessly against the ground. Then a series of boisterous cackles, maniacal and completely unhinged, penetrated through his dizzying haze.

Despite his potentially dire condition, Quentin mumbled out a weak yet heated, “Sh-Shut the… f-fuck up.”

When the disgusting laughter did not cease, a burst of miniscule strength flooded his system which allowed him to miraculously flip the bastard underneath him. His initial battle shout transformed into a pained wail when his pitiful bout of rage ended up maneuvering Freddy’s blades deeper into his gut. Quentin tried to pull free from the claws bleeding him dry, but the dream demon threaded mangled fingers painfully into his unruly locks.

Tugging his skull down by the roots of his hair, Freddy snarled out an eerily quiet, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Let g—” He howled in sheer agony as knifes drove entirely through his torso and out the opposite side.

“That thing, that  _bitch_ ,” Freddy corrected with disgust, the man pulling Quentin’s head in close such that their noses brushed, “can’t protect you.  _You’re mine!_ ”

“F... Fuck... you,” he venomously breathed out while attempting to locate where his necklace disappeared to.

A pelvis rolling upward into his own had Quentin whimpering in repulsion and fright. He belatedly noted their respective positions and felt his heart sink into the bowels of his stomach to rest alongside his mutilated innards. Oh please, not here, and not like this. Please, please, god no.

“It has been a _very_ long time…” The dream demon trailed off to rip his blades free, abruptly move the both of them to their feet, and then hoist Quentin into the air by the armpits. “But I think you need a little timeout first,” Freddy declared all too sweetly, “some time to think ‘bout your… selfish behaviour. And then, when I put the other kids down for a nap, we’ll have _lots_ of fun together. Make up for lost time. How’s that sound?”

No fucking thanks asshole, he thought bitterly. When the obstructing blur wholly receded from his vision, Quentin had the perfect angle to spot his precious necklace hanging out of the man’s pants pocket—the snapped leather cord only just visible. He barely had a second to record the information before a meat hook drove through his left shoulder and his nightmare vanished before his watery eyes.

“Fr-Freddy!” he shakily screeched once the agony diminished to a tolerable level. “Freddy… you s-sick sonovabitch…  _come back!_ ”

Instead of a lullaby creepily whispering in his ear, two distinct pings punctured through the silence which descended around his immediate area. His concern, however, was not on the generators but on his friends and his necklace. Quentin refused to lose either during this trial hence, out of sheer stupidity, he tried to unhook himself. Sadly, his first attempt not only resulted in failure but also greatly aggravated his stomach wound to the point where a tiny chunk of lacerated intestine fell out from the gaping hole.

Succumbing to his tears, Quentin merely relaxed—as best as he was able—into the rusted hook and focused on remaining conscious. The pain was far too extreme to power through, and especially in this position. Plus the side effects from the blood loss were really taking a toll on his body now. Was it possible to bleed out on the hook before the Entity devoured him? He had never witnessed or experienced such an instance in the past. In fact, there had been several times when he, and a select handful of his friends,  _should_  have bled out from their injuries on hooks. They perished from blood loss countless times on the ground so perhaps the hooks had something to do with it.

Curiosity punched a figurative hole in his cloudy mind which permitted other thoughts, besides agony, to appear. Continuing to shove the pain out, his palm delicately skimmed across soaked fabric to finger the gouge hole in his lower abdomen, each digit instantly becoming warm and sticky. Disregarding the blood for now, Quentin noticed that, while his injury was incredibly stinging and sore, the pain had lessened ever so slightly. Was the Entity keeping him alive long enough to be properly sacrificed? Maybe their captor did not like feasting on dead meat.

“Here,” a soft voice announced as the owner saved him from the metal contraption, “I got you.” Quentin had zero time to shake off the fresh wave of nausea before being partly maneuvered over his saviour’s shoulder.

“C’mon hurry,” a feminine voice implored while forcing him to walk, or in his case hobble along, with her.

With disorientation threatening to whisk him away into premature unconsciousness, Quentin squeezed his eyelids shut and focused on taking deep breaths. If he managed not to faint then he was going to puke. When he cracked his orbs open again, he found himself gently propped up on a smooth boulder. When did he get here?

“Oh god… oh god, what’d that bastard do to you?”

He oriented his gaze to the source of the noise: a fuzzy figure with blonde hair and robin egg blue orbs. “Laurie…”

“M’gonna patch you up,” Laurie shakily asserted while the woman fiddled with something in her hands. “Just stay with me Quen.”

“No, Laurie,” Quentin weakly protested, “my… my necklace. Fr-Freddy took… it. Gotta… gotta—”

“Shh, don’t worry about that right now. We’ll get it back, we’ll get it back,” she chanted with encouragement. “Just keep breathing for me… okay?”

“Mmm’kay,” he mumbled inaudibly and then the darkness instantly pulled him under.

\--------------------

Groggily coming to, Quentin flexed his limbs to discover stiffness and numbness wearing down his joints. Glancing at his surroundings, he noted with confusion that his body was elegantly concealed among two bushes and a bulky tree. Additionally, his vest and Ace’s jacket were now draped over the front of his form too. Peeling back the warm layers, he cocked an eyebrow at the massive amount of blood staining his T-shirt and the gauze peeking out from two sizeable holes in the fabric.

What the hell happened to him? And why did he have… oh fuck, the trial!

Throwing his makeshift blankets aside, Quentin sprang upwards in search of his friends. His wounds smarted something awful from moving about but it seemed to be mostly soreness from what he guessed to be stitches. Nevertheless, it prevented him from running completely straight or going too quickly. Every step was a tiresome battle yet he rejected the blissful idea of surrendering to his pain.

Passing through a maze of wooden walls, he unexpectedly bumped into someone else rounding the corner. Momentarily startled, he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was an awake friend whom he had smacked into.

“Ace, you’re,” Quentin started to utter only to wordlessly gasp at the crimson fluid leaking down the other’s arm, “you’re hurt.”

“Oh this?” the gambler questioned as he nodded at his injury. “Nothing but a kitten scratch.”

Quentin dug through his back pockets to produce a mostly intact roll of gauze and said, “Lemme help you with that.”

Ace swept over the vicinity twice with shaded orbs before muttering a short, “Quickly.” Following the gambler to a decent vantage point, Quentin tugged the other male’s shirt out of the way and began examining the lacerations. “I helped Laurie hide you after we finished fixing you up,” the man helpfully informed while continuing to monitor the crows. “I, erm… _we_ honestly didn’t expect you to be up and about. How’re you feeling?”

“Not great,” he truthfully admitted, “but I’m still alive. What happened while I was out? Is everyone okay?”

“We lost Meg in the basement,” Ace informed rather dejectedly. “Our fiery roadrunner bought us some time but The Nightmare eventually caught up to her. Now that there’s only one generator left, the killer’s been upping his game quite a bit… and he still has your necklace.”

Quentin did not take the news well though ended up asking an unanswered question. “And Laurie?”

“She’s doing alright. We’re using the size of the map against him,” the gambler stated and then subtly winced when the salve was applied to his cuts, “but the last few available machines to repair are restricted to the southwest.”

“So Freddy’s patrolling the gens?” Quentin hypothesized aloud. “Asshole.”

“The odds might be in his favour right now,” Ace remarked and then waggled his eyebrows some as he said, “but he’ll eventually fall for our bluff.”

“Bluff?”

“We’ve been repairing three different gens. Normally it’s not ideal to commit to multiple gens when we only need one,” the gambler explained, “but that’s where the bluff comes into play.”

“Freddy doesn’t know which gen you guys are at… and by working on more than one, he can’t stay too long in one place,” he logically deduced.

“Or chase one of us for too long, exactly. My, my. Brains and beauty,” the gambler commented with a honeyed smile, “how’d you get so lucky?”

“Ugh, please stop,” he half-heartedly pleaded while a smile of his own stretched at his lips.

The humor rapidly dissolved into grim seriousness when Ace mentioned, “Getting your necklace back will be the tricky play here.”

“I can get—”

“Quen—”

“I’m the _only_ one Freddy’ll pause for,” he argued. “I can distract him and then get my necklace back.”

“ _No!_ ” the gambler sharply voiced. “He’ll already have an idea of what you’re up to so you’ll just be playing right into his hand.”

“Yeah, well,” Quentin grumbled out in irritation, “what would you d—”

A pained scream resounding just a few feet away from the pair interrupted their minor debate.

“Right now,” Ace began to say while shimmying his shirt back down over the bandages, “I need to save the damsel in distress, and you need to repair one of the machines.”

“But I can—”

“Quentin, please,” the gambler softly spoke with a tear rolling down his cheek, “let us handle this.”

He stared at Ace for a tense minute before finally relenting to the other man’s wishes. He surmised that the gambler, and likely Laurie too, did not want to subject him to any further interactions with Freddy after finding him in such rough shape. Besides, the sight of Ace shedding a tear for him tweaked a sensitive nerve within his heart.

Sighing sorrowfully, Quentin offered the gambler another small smile and simply said, “Be careful.”

“I will,” Ace toothily promised and then pointed in the general direction of the southwest. “Hug the wall and you’ll spot the first gen near a fallen tree.”

Nodding in comprehension, the two males then went their separate ways. Quentin stayed the course though eventually deviated from the outlying wall when no grinding gears or pistons reached his ears. Was this generator inactive or something?

Slinking past a variety of rocks and trees, he finally located his intended target. The machine had been previously damaged but, thankfully, was not entirely regressed with roughly fifty percent of its progress still preserved.

Squatting before the generator, Quentin speedily tinkered with the wiring while straining his ears for any suspicious noises. He was still fairly dizzy and nauseous from losing so much blood although he managed to avoid passing out or causing any undesired explosions for the time being. And his poor insides were just murder to tolerate. He needed divine healing to cure the horrible, stabbing ache.

Correctly closing the connection between the ninth pairing of wires, he heard the soft singing of children start fluttering through the air. Shit, shit, shit. The lullaby was faint though it might not stay that way for terribly long.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he breathed out in desperation, “just one more.”

As the singing increased in volume, Quentin peered over his shoulder to observe Ace drop a pallet on Freddy—or assumed so since he was incapable of seeing the dream demon. While he partially focused on his repair work, he watched as the gambler hid behind a skinny tree and the downed pallet shatter into dozens of tiny pieces. Then Ace popped out of his hiding place to supposedly take Freddy by surprise. Quentin gawked at the gambler vigorously struggling with an invisible force with awe; however, Ace appeared to be losing the fight given the numerous cuts continuously materializing all over his body.

An inconvenient explosion forced his gaze back to the fussy machine, and he silently cursed his inattentiveness. Delays were the very last thing he, or his teammates, needed right now. Fortunately Freddy decided against targeting him and stuck to contending with Ace which allowed Quentin to finish the generator. As the glorious horn blared overhead, a louder-than-average pained yelp from behind ensued mere moments afterwards.

Wheeling around, Quentin’s eyes widened in alarm as he mumbled a disbelieving, “No.”

There, kneeling stiffly on the dirt, was Ace whom released a raw scream as a geyser of blood spewed out from a giant hole punched through his torso. Quentin futilely hyperventilated at the gory sight but, knowing full well that the gambler was finally free from this nightmare, he ran away to avoid detection while throwing out silent apologies to his butchered friend.

Stumbling into the lodge, he ducked behind one side of the centre table and clutched his head in both hands. Quentin vaguely heard Freddy’s lullaby outside the building yet his mind blocked it out. Watching Ace die in front of his eyes like that made him physical ill, the sensation strong enough to cause him to vomit all over the wooden floorboards. Likely due to his internal injuries, his puke possessed a distinct red colour along with the odd chunk of flesh mixed in. It was absolutely revolting.

Clearing the foul, acidic taste from his mouth, he leaned against the table to sniffle in despair. This was all his fault.

Quentin instantly flinched when a pressure descended on his shoulder but relaxed a minute later when he spotted Laurie by his side. Had he mistaken the singing of children for the shoe scuffling of the babysitter? Was that detail even important? If only he had been a little swifter, and a lot less sloppy, at repairing that final generator.

Out of necessity, Quentin sorrowfully revealed, “A-Ace was k—”

“I know,” she interjected, a depressive frown nearly hidden on her face.

Noting that the babysitter was asleep, Quentin extended a hand forward and said, “Lemme wake you up.”

Slapping his hand to the side, Laurie hardened her gaze, straightened her posture and then determinedly said, “I opened the northernmost gate. When I get your necklace back,  _run_.”

“When you—What’re you saying?” he inquired as sleepiness invaded his stressed mind.

The babysitter only belted out a sort of aggressive growl in response, shoved him to the side and then leapt around the corner of the table to grapple with someone. Laurie was promptly slammed to the ground soon after, the woman supposedly pinned on her back and yet Quentin was powerless to aid her.

Only when the unusual drowsiness dragged him into the dreamworld did he receive the most gorgeous view of Laurie jamming a broken shard of glass directly into Freddy’s clothed groin. While the bastard roared in hopefully immeasurable agony, the babysitter dug through the bastard’s pocket to procure Quentin’s necklace—with both the cross and medallion accounted for.

Laurie hastily scrambled to her knees, quickly threw his necklace at him, and then was immediately impaled by gleaming, monstrous claws. Quentin dove forward and successfully caught both trinkets in one hand but not before screaming in anguish at seeing another friend be savagely gutted. Honouring their noble sacrifices for him, he stashed his broken necklace in his jeans pocket and fled towards the direction of the northern exit gate. He had to escape; all that mattered now was escaping.

“ _QUENTIN!_ ”

At the sound of angry footfalls pursuing him, Quentin began to thoroughly panic, his lungs burning from exertion while his pulse jumped with every staggering step he took. How the hell did someone recover from being stabbed in the dick?! Ragged breaths told him that Freddy was closing in and he practically shit his pants when knifes abruptly slashed off a lock of his hair.

Narrowly sprinting through the life-saving threshold, Quentin relished in the feeling of the fog coiling around his body until something snagged his arm. Shocked, he cranked his neck to the side to observe a bloodied palm grasped tightly around his left wrist through the tendril-like barrier.

Freddy was grabbing him  _through_  the barrier!

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Freddy hissed out lowly, the man tightening his crushing hold with every word vocalized. “You’ll  _always_  belong to me Quentin. Nothing in this world can keep you from _me!_ ”

Quentin whined in misery, but what really made him scream was an intense freezing sensation—cold enough to burn—seeping into the flesh ensnared in Freddy’s grip. Fresh tears misted his sight with each agonizing second as his hope of escape dwindled.

Then, out of the blue, the hand grasping his wrist spontaneously caught fire which caused the dream demon to cry out and release him. Quentin spared no additional glance backwards and merely booked it into the thick fog.

Once on the other side, the loss of adrenaline brought him to his hands and knees. Gradually stifling his cries, he kneeled breathlessly on the cool earth and attempted to quell the whirlwind of thoughts zigzagging around in his brain. What the hell had just happened? No, _how_ the fuck did it happen? Killers were not capable of following them—and by extension harming them—once they passed the invisible barricade. Right?

Retrieving his necklace from his pocket, Quentin curled into an exhausted ball of limbs and eyed both his medallion and his prickling wrist with a sickening feeling swirling around in his gut.

How powerful was Freddy becoming? Was the dream demon always this strong? Quentin had not the answers. All he knew for certain was that he was, now more than ever, utterly frightened of his worst nightmare.


	35. One Man’s Crazed Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned!

David struggled to keep his mind lucid though it was quite a difficult task given the warm, wet heat partially encircling his dick. The temptation to just slip off the edge of clarity, to give in to the pleasurable sensations racking through his body, nearly overwhelmed him. Nevertheless, his eyes refused to stray from the head between his legs.

Quentin simply stuck to teasingly sucking on the first few inches of his member while he laid flat on his back, the coarse fibers of the carpet slightly irritating his sk—wait, carpet? Since when did they have carpet here?

One devilish flick of tongue to his weeping tip had him groaning and arching in surprise. Christ, that felt good, so good but damn Quentin for his insistent teasing. David loved it at the best of times but, as of this very minute, he wanted  _more_.

Shifting a hand south, he gripped the teenager’s skull and raggedly ordered, “Stop teasin’ me.”

David felt Quentin smile around his aching flesh, those devious cesious-coloured eyes gleaming in the white light cast off by the frosted windows. The playful expression, despite being semi-infuriating, sent a bolt of arousal straight to his cock. Goddamn cheeky little bugger!

Cursing breathlessly at the teenager, and internally plotting revenge later on, David tightly coiled his fingers into soft brunette curls and tugged. His message blatantly received, Quentin started sucking him off in earnest with the occasional hum thrown in between. The combined sensations swiftly substituted all vengeful thoughts and drove a colourful collection of needy sounds from his mouth. So, so close now. David weightlessly slumped back into a supine position and awaited the heavenly moment of blissful release.

“Talented isn’t he?”

He abruptly snapped out of his lust-induced stupor to see The Nightmare looming behind Quentin while the boy, now with tears streaking down from his bloodshot orbs, hesitantly lapped at his pulsating manhood.

“N-No,” David muttered in horror as his excitement plummeted. “Bloody f-fuckin’ bas—”

“Keep going angelfish,” Krueger urged with a sickening smirk, the words so familiar yet distant. “Our guest is starting to get impatient.”

Snarling viciously at the killer, he made to stand only to jerk backwards from thick threads securing his body in place.

“Ya bloody gut—”

“David.”

“—less  _cunt!_ ” he angrily roared while thrashing in his binds like a madman. His furious movements escalated to indescribable heights when he eventually noticed The Nightmare gripping Quentin by the hips and thrusting into the teenager. “GET YER DISGUSTIN’ PRICK—”

“ _David!_ ”

“—OUTTA ‘IM! DON’T FUCKIN’ TOUCH ‘IM YA—”

“DAVID!”

A stinging ache radiating from his cheek acted as a jolt to his senses, the sudden rush of endorphins causing him to fling upright. Gasping for breath which he did not have, David quickly oriented his gaze to his lap and found no sight of Quentin or the bastard. W-What the hell? Where was—

He flinched when a pressure descended on his shoulder which prompted his face to harden into a fierce scowl. Not this time. Winding up a tight fist, David twisted his torso around to deliver a righteous punch to Krueger’s mangled face but stopped short at the friendly figure crouching beside him.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” Jake calmly explained, the man cautiously watching his raised fist.

Sleep? Was he asleep? He initially believed so yet the firm hand clasped on his shoulder said otherwise. Sighing as a means of quelling his roused temper, David willed his tense body to relax. It had been nothing more than a bad dream, a nightmare in the form of a horrible memory. And yet it kept resurfacing.

Stretching minutely, he cast a sideways glance at Jake and idly asked, “Were ya watchin’ me sleep?”

“Only near the end.”

Why would the saboteur do... maybe he was making more of an unconscious ruckus than he realized. Nodding to himself, David briefly thanked the other male before rotating around to eye the campground with interest.

“He hasn’t returned from the trial yet,” Jake informed, the man answering his unspoken question about Quentin’s whereabouts to which David grumbled at. Sometimes the guy was too perceptive for his own good—like so many other individuals here.

“Right,” David drew out the word somewhat obnoxiously. “So, uh—”

“He does seem better now.”

“Quen?”

At the survivalist’s nod, he plastered on a small smirk and said, “Sleepin’ without some demon tryin’ ta kill—”

“While I won’t disagree,” Jake interjected, the man moving to sit at his side, “I wasn’t referring to his sleeping.” Shooting a perplexed eyebrow at the other, the saboteur elaborated with, “Your intervention has been the greatest help to him.”

“My… oh,” he uttered dumbly when the full meaning sunk in. “I guess so, but… where’s all this comin’ from mate?”

An odd expression crossed Jake’s face for a split second—something thoughtful to say the least—before returning to a neutral one. “Just stating my opinion.”

David hummed suspiciously though decided to let it slide in favour of saucily asking, “‘ow’s things with Laurie? Enjoyin’ her company?”

Jake displayed the faintest hint of a blush before partly obscuring his face from view to murmur, “A-Among other things, yes.”

Was the saboteur embarrassed? David stifled a few snickers at the idea though apparently not well enough given the icy glare now boring into his skull.

Choking down a larger laugh, he lifted his palms defensively in between them and uttered, “Easy mate, don’t get yer knickers in a twist.” Waiting for the other male to appear less annoyed, David added a quiet yet genuine, “M’glad you guys ‘ave each other—”

“Where are they?!”

Snapping his head towards the hasty inquiry, David looked to the opposite end of the campground to discover an unbloodied Ace frantically scanning the vicinity. The gambler took a few steps forward where Feng and Nea closed the gap to meet the man halfway.

“Did they come back yet?” Ace breathlessly questioned the girls.

Rising alongside Jake, the two of them approached the small cluster of commotion to hear Nea say, “From the trial? You’re the first one back.”

The gambler emitted what David guessed to be a foul curse in Italian before sighing out, “Guess it’s too soon. They’d need to play their hands right if they’re g—”

“Can you get to the part where you explain what happened?” Feng all but demanded of the gambler, her intense scowl not matching the anxiety her body depicted.

When Ace did no such thing and continue to mutter inaudibly to himself, David belted out a harsh, “Out with it mate! Wha’ ‘app—”

“The killer was The Nightmare!” the gambler practically screamed in frustration. “And… and he knows about Quentin’s medallion.”

The information adopted the form of a sharp blade which mercilessly pierced into David’s unsuspecting gut and sent him into silent lividness. This was completely… no, it was unthinkable.

“Even though we were upping our game,” Ace resumed with shaky fists clenched at his sides, “the killer was raising his own stakes alongside us. Meg bought us—”

“Did you talk to Meg?” Nea abruptly asked, an almost desperate sort of hope laced within her voice.

“Being ever the elegant lady,” the gambler began to say as he stowed his shades in his jacket pocket, “our one and only up-close encounter was her telling me to ‘fuck off’ so… regrettably no.”

“What of Laurie and Quentin?” Jake chimed in. “Are they alright?”

“I… I hope so,” Ace softly expressed. “I distracted Krueger long enough for Quentin to finish the last generator but… the killer still had the kid’s necklace when I died.”

“Not anymore,” a new voice announced. A swift glance revealed the source of the declaration to be Laurie whom immediately strolled up to Jake and enveloped the saboteur in a tender hug. Judging by her clean clothes, she too must have died.

“Where’s Quen?” David asked the babysitter though his tone was equivalent to the booming roar of thunder.

“Escaping the trial,” Laurie asserted while maintaining eye contact with David. “I opened one of the exit gates beforehand and now all Quen has to do is run for it.”

“Can he make it with his injuries?” Ace questioned, the doubt in his voice making David wordlessly fume. “He wasn’t moving all too well—”

“I sacrificed myself to get his necklace back which gave him time to run. He’s going to make it,” the babysitter voiced adamantly.

But was Quentin’s escape truly possible? David had millions of thoughts racing through his brain and none of them awfully nice either. Furthermore, instead of embracing positivity, he lowly asked, “Wha’ injuries? Wha’d ‘at bastard do ta ‘im now?”

Laurie and Ace both exchanged looks, firm robin egg blue orbs staring into gentle browns as they silently communicated.

“The usual gashes and scrapes of course, but umm, well it… it was hard to tell,” the babysitter said, her gaze averted to the ground, “but it looked like the killer lacerated a section of his intestines.”

“Ugh, sick!” Feng disgustedly exclaimed, a comment which Jake stiffly nodded along to.

“Kinda like how The Hag takes a chunk outta our guts?” Nea ventured to guess. “Gross.”

Ace looked as though he wished to correct the tag artist but refrained. Besides, with or without the correction, David was slowly descending into the boiling pool of temperamental fluid building up inside his brain.

“We stitched what we could with the supplies we had. It was just hard to tell what, uh,” Laurie paused to clear her throat, her expression appearing slightly green, “what  _pieces_ … went where.”

“But we managed,” the gambler emphasized likely to calm the worried crowd. “The mysterious healing musta kicked in too ‘cause—”

David zoned out of the ongoing conversation, his mind honing in on select details while his temper spiked dangerously within every fibre of his body. That perverted bastard… there existed no appropriate words to describe his utter loathing of the burned monster. Let it out, his mind tiredly muttered, just let it out before it kills. Since his routine breathing exercises and mental counts were rapidly failing him, there seemed to be no other options.

Marching over to the nearest tree trunk, David proceeded to slam fist after fist into the brittle bark, the pain providing nothing but a meagre ounce of relief.

“David, st—”

“After everythin’ ‘at’s ‘appened,” David shouted in anger, his strikes never ceasing, “after everythin’ I did ta protect ‘im… damn ‘at bastard! And damn the Entity! Damn the fuckin’ lot of th—”

A hand caught his fist before it made contact with the battered, semi-splintered bark. Peering to the side, he spotted Jake ensnaring his wrist and offering him an expression of mutual understanding.

“We’ll deal with this,” the saboteur smoothly spoke, his grip still withstanding.

David scoffed and voiced a heated, “How?”

“Easy,” Laurie piped from behind. “Quentin’ll hand his necklace over to someone for safekeeping while he goes off to a trial.”

Wrenching his wrist free, David spun around to pitch in, “And if no one’s around?”

He watched as Feng placed a finger against her lip and stuttered out an uncertain, “Well, erm…”

“Then we’ll make sure someone  _is_  around,” the babysitter stressed, “or he can mark a place in the woods to leave it temporarily.”

“The latter option should be a last resort,” Jake wisely stated. “Given how dark the surround—”

“Oi! Yer ideas only work if Quen actually escapes  _with_  his necklace.”

“Don’t you trust him David?” Nea suddenly voiced, a watery sheen coating her orbs all the while. What sort of a ridiculous question was that?

“I trust ‘im!” he bellowed, his body tensing all over again. “I trust ‘im with my life! Wha’ I  _don’t_  trust is ‘at wanker not ta try somethin’ dirty.”

“Well obviously th—”

“Ugh, doncha ‘ave yer own girlfriend ta whine to?” David snapped at the tag artist. “Or d’ya not  _trust_  her?”

“David,” Feng murmured in warning.

Nea waved the gamer back and took a powerful step toward him to lowly assert, “I  _trust_  that Meg will come back when she finishes working through her emotions.”

“Right, and ‘at’s why you’ve been doin’ nothin’ ‘cept cry yer eyes out and carve up the trees with screwdrivers.”

“Yeah, so what? Am I not allowed to be upset?!”

“‘Course ya are!” David barked back. “I just don’t see ya doin’ much else.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh stud?” Nea accusingly spat while crowding into his personal space. “What’re you saying?”

“M’sayin’ you’re lettin’ yerself be left behind and forgotten... just like yer friends and ‘ome in Sweden.”

Nea gasped at his statement, her mouth—and a few others besides—agape and eyes wide with shock.

“David, that—”

“It’s the _truth_ ,” he resolutely cut off whatever Ace was about to say. “Ya coulda visited yer friends or moved back on yer own, but ya chose to stay miffed at yer parents in the US. You  _chose_  that, and now you’re choosin’ ta be left behind and forgotten by Meg.”

Observing their disapproving and angered expressions, David braced for a fight yet no one made a move. Instead an awkward quiet descended upon their group with only the crackling of burning wood filling the background.

Maybe they were too afraid to act, or too stunned, but he was not about to retract his words. Yes, they were harsh  _and_  they were true. If Nea genuinely wanted Meg back, then she had to fight for her. He fought tooth and nail for what he wanted here, and for the life he desired outside of this world too, so why should it be any different for the tag artist?

Nea released a miserable sounding scoff before mumbling something under her breath and then swiftly stalking into the depth of the woods. The truth hurts, like a bitter drink going down the wrong pipe, but there was no sugar-coating it.

“You’re unbelievable,” Ace punctuated with a light shove to David’s chest. “Was it really necessary to make her feel _worse_ about her situation?”

“Oh my god David,” Feng muttered with exasperation. “Why’re you always such an ass?”

Everyone promptly stilled at the sound of bushes rustling which had several pairs of eyes following the noise to find a bloodied figure entering into the clearing. Thank fuck; Quentin made it out!

Breathing a sigh of relief, David jogged a few paces to greet the other male. “Quen—”

The teenager brushed away his caring hands rather coolly and veered towards Ace and Laurie where Quentin then drew the two survivors in close by their necks.

“Thanks guys,” David barely heard Quentin whisper, “thank you.”

“D’you have it?” Ace inquired with a hint of trepidation. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” Quentin affirmed as he pulled down his tattered shirt collar to show his necklace off, “I managed to escape with it.”

Laurie sighed contentedly, her body relaxing into the hug as she said, “Good. When you didn’t come back right away, we th—what happened to your arm?”

Frowning mildly, David tried to peek at the limb in question only for Quentin to hastily cover up the blackened region with his palm. “Wha—oh that, uh,” the boy stammered out, the delayed response irking David some, “Freddy grabbed me, but I’m okay.”

“He grabbed you and it turned your arm black?” Feng voiced with confusion and miraculously without a ‘bullshit’ thrown in. 

“Looks akin to frostbite,” Jake uttered as the man suspiciously eyed the peculiar injury.

Enough of this guessing game. Wishing to get a decent look for himself, David snatched the stubborn teen by the wrist to thoroughly inspect the damage. Jake was right: the injury was consistent with frostbite or possibly a strong flame burn—he was no doctor however. The outline itself formed a perfect hand impression, but there was no way the blackened flesh resulted from a mere grab. In fact, the darkened skin felt rather smooth and entirely too chilly to the touch—lifeless even.

Stroking the affected area with a gentle thumb, David whispered a firm, “Wha’ did this love?”

A sharp exhale followed and it seemed as though the teen refused to respond. Prying as David was now was going against one of his many unseen rules, but he had to know. This injury was like nothing he had even witnessed or received in this world and, if he was being wholly honest, it deeply disturbed him. If the killers were capable of inflicting this kind of damage, then what did that imply for them? After all, it was apparent which side—killers versus survivors—the Entity favoured in her grand game of death and despair.

Growing impatience with the boy’s reluctance to speak, David went to demand an answer until Quentin interrupted by voicing, “Has a killer ever gone through the barrier behind the exit gates? The barrier right before the fog?”

“Wha’ does ‘at ‘ave t—wait, is ‘at ‘ow you got this?”

“The Nightmare went through th—”

“That’s imposs—”

“What does that m—”

“Just answer the fucking question!” Quentin snapped, the outburst slightly startling David.

“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Feng remarked with an impulsive shrug. “Those branch-looking things—”

“Tendrils,” Jake corrected as he typically tended to do.

“Fine,  _tendrils_ ,” the gamer emphasized with her usual sass, “always keep them from following us.”

Quentin hummed quietly and gave a subtle nod, his eyes seemingly focused on a random tuft of grass. “I see.”

“Quen,” Laurie spoke slowly, “I know y—”

“Freddy grabbed me through the barrier,” the boy stated in an abnormally calm and monotone voice. “I don’t know how, but he did. And when he did,” Quentin paused to lift his blackened forearm in the air, “my arm was… it got really cold, cold enough to burn.”

Ace shook his head in disbelief and mumbled, “How’s that possible?”

“Geez, what’s the deal with this fucker?” Feng shouted as her foot stomped angrily on the ground. “Does he have a secret power or something we don’t know about?”

“You obviously broke free though,” the saboteur surmised.

“No,” Quentin declared, “Freddy’s hand caught fire somehow and he was forced to let go.”

“It caught fire?”

Quentin nodded and then eyed Laurie and Ace once more to say, “Anyways, don’t look too much into it. The damage’ll eventually heal and I’ll be more careful next time.”

“That’s it?” the gamer incredulously expressed to the boy. “You’re not worried about this at _all_?”

“Not enough to let it hurt me,” Quentin strongly confessed, the teen effectively ignoring the concerned looks sent his way. “C’mon David,” the boy implored while hastily tugging him by the bicep. “I need you.”

“Wait a second k—”

The teenager halted their retreat and pivoted back around to face the others again. Given the poor angle, David did not have a decent view but whatever expression Quentin was wearing certainly seemed to be scaring the piss out of everyone. He was grateful not to be on the receiving end—for the time being.

Regardless, David allowed the apparently impatient teen to drag him into the endless forest. Aero blue light highlighted the greenery, which was never in short supply, as it blurred by in his peripheral vision. The careful zigzags suggested that Quentin was taking him to a specific, and unmarked, area. Not only that, but the boy really seemed to be in a hurry.

Narrowly avoiding a low-hanging branch, David uttered a confused, “Wha’s the rush lo—”

“Shut up,” Quentin abruptly spat, his tone conveying inarguable finality.

It was a mite aggravating to hear and yet strangely arousing. Quentin displayed a similar aggression regularly enough during trials; although, the episodes were typically short unless the boy was pitted against Freddy. To experience such ferocity directed at him was rare and applied only to specific contexts. This, however, seemed vastly different than previous moments and he could only imagine what the teen had in store for him.

Stopping at their presumed destination—an irregularly shaped, circular patch of fluorescent flowers outlined by a ring of bulbous tree trunks—David had a few seconds to admire the vicinity before feeling his jacket forcibly ripped off of him. Shooting the other male a slightly dumbfounded look, he made to comment only for several fingers to wind into his short hair while a pair of lips eagerly latched onto his mouth.

Well this was nothing of what he was expecting though he was hardly mithered. When the initial shock dissipated, David happily delved into the passionate and hungry kisses currently siphoning the oxygen from his lungs. He understood wanting to release pent up frustrations after a bad trial. The both of them had given out healing and comfort of a sexual nature countless times for one another—and not simply because of nasty trials.

Remembering the surely painful wounds the boy probably still possessed, David begrudgingly wrestled his mouth free to ask, “Yer injuries—”

“They're healed. M’fine,” Quentin swiftly assured and then dove right back in to administer more heated kisses. An unexpected shove accompanied by a foot hooking behind his heel had David falling to the flower-covered earth with a grunt, the patches of gritty dirt biting into his bare back. “Relax already.”

“Gah! Wha’re ya do—”

A weight settling atop his thighs and lips again molding over his own blocked any protests he tried to vocalize. Quentin was on a mission which apparently involved the utter domination of his mouth. Christ, it was  _this!_ This assertive, ravenous behaviour was knocking him for a loop, and it so intensely churned the flames of desire within his system.

“N-Not ‘at I’m complainin’,” he attempted to convey clearly without being distracted by the tongue coaxing his into play, “but I don’t wanna accidently ‘urt ya.”

David knew his brain was gradually submitting to his mounting erection yet he strived to be the better man. Quentin blowing off an intestinal gouging did not bode well and he felt it necessary to mention his unease. Just let go, his sex driven mind commanded, the desirous voice disregarding any thoughts of self-control. Was resisting even doable anymore?

A low growl reached his ears as Quentin pulled away and David found wild, almost frenzied, hazy blue eyes glaring firmly down at him. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

Goddamn. Quentin obviously needed whatever this was supposed to be and he doubted there existed a means of stopping it—or stopping himself. Hence, eager to potentially get his dick wet, David enthusiastically launched himself into the action.

As their respective body temperatures began to rise, the teenager broke free from their lip lock with a breathless sigh to roughly tug at the waistband of David’s jeans. “Can I?”

Even with all of his aggressiveness, Quentin still had the restraint to ask for permission. David figured it had something to do with the boy’s interactions with Krueger and not wanting to force himself on someone unwilling. Nevertheless, a hearty chuckle escaped him as he eyed the beauty straddling his body with a fond smile.

“Y’know, ya don’t gotta ask every time,” David pointed out. “I trust y—”

“This isn’t about trust, but… m’grateful to have yours,” the teen appreciatively expressed. “So…”

“Do it.”

Speedily freeing his stiffening member, Quentin gave the organ a few teeny licks before swallowing everything from tip to base. David yelped from the abrupt wetness engulfing his cock—the exquisite feel of it hitting the back of the teen’ throat—and thanked every saint in existence that the other forwent taking things slow or teasing him.

“Tease,” he listlessly mumbled under his breath.

The word tripped a delicate circuit within his brain which caused his arousal to flag. Awkwardly gawking at the mop of chocolate curls in his lap, David saw no evident distress or tears gracing Quentin’s face. Additionally, there was no dream demon suggestively positioned behind the boy either. Christ, why was he even thinking about that repulsive wanker?

Harshly biting into his bottom lip, David dismissed his petty fears and allowed only pleasure to take up his attention. And, of course, the person administering such sweet pleasure to him. Wet slurping noises and satisfied groans were the only noises heard over the next few minutes. He held strong and managed to resist for a spell, but the wonderfully slick suction was stretching his willpower beyond its normal thresholds.

Fingers clawing at the loose sediment, David hissed out a brief warning as his end drew closer. There was the occasional time Quentin swallowed afterwards, a sight so erotic in itself, yet he had zero interest in watching this time. He blamed it on an unwillingness to injure his neck but, in actuality, he was afraid to see his worst nightmare brought to life again.

It was to his colossal disappointment when the spongy heat suddenly disappeared and his dick was left to shrivel in the cool breeze. Seriously? Had Quentin decided to torture him… or was it something else? Tilting his skull upward, his gaze hesitantly drifted lower and then immediately squeezed shut when a different heat, a scorching one, proceeded to suffocate his member.

Quentin, entirely bare save for his cherished necklace, was now impaled on his dick.

“Q-Quen…” David petered off to groan at the unbelievable tightness crushing his cock. Why had… when the hell had the boy taken off his clothes? Pleasure really did render him blind to his own surroundings.

“Gimme a sec… just,” Quentin muttered with a grimace, “just wait, okay.”

Breathing through the mild agony at having his member mercilessly squeezed, David spared a moment to ponder over this surprising outcome. All of their fooling around in the past solely consisted of intense make-out sessions and blow jobs. Quentin had been rather conflicted about progressing beyond such things. David too, despite wanting to indulge in the whole package, was a touch hesitant in fear of scaring his love away. The last thing he wanted was to become some kind of catalyst for Quentin’s worst memories. As such, he was content to wait for the teen to feel fully comfortable with the idea—something he scarcely considered with his other partners. Clearly the wait was over.

“Christ, I...” he trailed off when he noticed the faintest trace of blood streaking from their point of connection. “Idiot! Yer bleed—”

“Don’t care,” Quentin sharply huffed out.

“Quen—”

“Dammit David! I _want_ this, okay… and besides,” the teen voiced with a shit-eating grin, “I don’t mind a little pain.”

Quentin liked pain… well, fuck. Swiftly gulping down his residual worries, David plastered on a playful smirk and said, “Think ya can ‘andle ridin’ the King?”

The boy let out a humorous chuckle before replying with a cocky, “Absolutely.”

Completely striping him of his jeans and boxers, Quentin started a slow and steady rhythm, hips slowly rising before sinking back down. Despite the mess of bodily fluids aiding the penetration, the teen remained incredibly tight—borderline painful in certain instances.

Now David had his fair share of sexual encounters before—majority of which being under the influence—but this tightness… Christ! He recollected only one other time he experienced such a vice hugging his prick so snugly. If he remembered correctly, that woman had been a virgin too, though Quentin felt pretty virgin-like with the way his ass was gripping him. Plus the view was magnificent, especially with the way his dick disappeared into the other’s delectable body.

At a particularly sharp drop of hips, David let out a guttural groan and reflexively rocked his pelvis upward which resulted in a strangled cry from Quentin. Smiling smugly at the sound, he repeated the action while panting out, “Enjoyin’ the ride?”

“F-Fuck, I... yeah,” Quentin barely breathed out, “f-feels... feels so good.”

Swelling with pride, David met every downward thrust with an upward one, the slap of slick skin growing louder and more frequent. Sometime during their savage thrusting, David found the spot which made Quentin positively mewl and made doubly sure to spear it repeatedly.

Grasping the other by the hips to gain some control of the action, he drank in every single detail the flushed teenager gorgeously presented to him: cesious orbs half-lidded and unfocused; necklace bouncing erratically with each thrust; back arching at just the right angles to display lean, hair-free musculature and alluring scars; and a mouth-watering erect cock quivering with the need to burst.

David could not have imagined anything better.

With the both of them reduced to moaning messes, and their releases nearing, David upped the pace. His movements were jerky and frantic which complimented Quentin’s uncoordinated slams perfectly. One violent slam of their hips shoved them overboard, their screams of ecstasy flying off into the forest as David momentarily drowned in a white, blinding fog. He hazily registered three lines of hot fluid painting his sweaty chest while the teenager’s passage milked his cock dry. David snapped back to the present when Quentin collapsed on his heaving torso, the two of them fighting to regain their lost breath.

He definitely had not anticipated this but was damn glad it happened. Granted, it was not the most aggressive shag in his lifetime; however, it possessed its own uniqueness which made it all the more satisfying. The euphoric pain of having his manhood squeezed and massaged, for example, and the way Quentin boldly held the reigns to their pleasure was profoundly enjoyable. To put it simply: it was a moment he intended to thoroughly remember.

“D-David,” Quentin exhaustedly stuttered out into his sticky torso. “I—”

“S’okay love,” David whispered as he stroked a palm through the other male’s damp curls. “I said I trust ya, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. I trust you too.” Wiggling his butt some, which still had a moist dick lodged inside, Quentin offered David a toothy smirk before asking, “Wanna go again?”

David felt his spent member immediately spring to life at the utterance of those three meager words. Please, he internally pleaded, please do not let this be a dream.


	36. Must You Drown In Your Fears?

David had dosed off some time ago, the steady rise and fall of his slightly hairy chest only offset by a few beats of his heart. The subtle pulse, a soft noise near reminiscent of a metronome, was quite soothing to listen to… minus the intermittent snores the scrapper emitted. Resting an ear over the origin site of the faint thumping, Quentin relaxed his sore body and pondered over the events which led up to this amazing moment.

After surviving his latest encounter with Freddy, his suffocating fear had almost consumed what precious sanity he had left. Though his hatred and aggressiveness for the dream demon remained strong, that lingering sense of dread towards Freddy fluctuated on a constant basis. And boy had it caused indescribable agony which surpassed having his intestines scrambled by sharp ‘utensils’.

Before his negative emotions devoured all of his hope, Quentin had remembered something vitally important. To accept defeat, to surrender to his crippling despair and consequently lose his burning hope, was exactly what Freddy desired. Additionally, Quentin strongly believed it was those emotions, and paired with their supposedly ‘unbreakable bond’ the Entity mentioned, which were granting Freddy such tremendous power. How else had the dream demon breached the tendril-like barrier otherwise? Surely there existed no other plausible explanation, and he outright rejected the simplest of answers: that the Entity was gifting Freddy with greater power; that the dream demon was becoming stronger of his own accord; or that Freddy had always been cursed, or perhaps blessed given the context, with such power all along.

Not permitting his petty anxiety to fester, he had decided then and there to erase his mounting pessimism. However, in order to wholly obliterate such a mindset, his three most detrimental fears had to be conquered: his fear of sex; his fear of water; and his fear of The Nightmare himself.

Quentin had tried overcoming the first two in the past with zero success, his wasted efforts progressively weakening his prided perseverance. But this time would be different compared to the others. Potentially like Freddy, he too was growing stronger courtesy of the ample amounts of sleep he received and from the strength and support bestowed onto him by his friends. Thus, repelling the dream demon seemed, in theory, doable.

But for how long? How long indeed. If everyone was truly trapped here for eternity, which he prayed to be false, then there stood the possibility of this world grinding their hope into nothing but a fine-grained powder which scattered quietly in the wind—probably just like the survivors before them. Perhaps struggling was all for naught…

One fear at a time dumbass, his mind grumpily chided, otherwise every victory will feel like a failure. It was tough to argue with such words of wisdom, and every success—no matter the size or intensity—was a stepping stone towards their continued survival. Even if said survival was rather dreary on occasions.

Wordlessly nodding at the memory, Quentin snuggled his cheek into a warm chest while his lips stretched into a faint smile. While fatigue had him feeling sluggish, especially after such rough fucking, it did not drag him into the blissful respite of unconsciousness. His mind still had difficulty processing his recent sexual escapade though his body was hugely satisfied. David clearly enjoyed the experience too given his rambunctious enthusiasm and triple climax. Thankfully his boyfriend did not seem offended or off-put by his initial stern aggressiveness. In reality, Quentin wagered that his unusual behaviour had actually escalated David’s excitement and, in all honesty, he deeply relished the emotional high of being on top—or topping from the bottom as the case were.

His rejuvenated willpower beforehand certainly improved his mood plenty for this moment too. It was the main reason behind his nonchalant attitude towards his trial woes and why he had eagerly thrown himself at David. Regardless, Quentin harboured absolutely no regrets for his actions brought out several good things including the lessening of his anxiety towards sex. Well consensual sex, to be accurate, as the opposite had probably left a permanent, invisible scar on his psyche—another trophy for the sick fuck to gloat about. At the very least, he now possessed a wonderful memory of normal intercourse to combat the disgusting ones he forcibly shared with Freddy.

Quentin sneered at the mere thought of the dream demon stealing away his life and innocence, his fingers unknowingly clawing into David’s skin. He abruptly froze a second later when the scrapper shifted about and grumbled under his breath, and Quentin prayed he did not accidently rouse the other male. David deserved an uninterrupted, relaxing rest after the man had guarded over his sleep for so long—and everything else besides.

He observed with bated breath as David stilled and his breathing gradually evened out. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, he promptly grimaced at the prickling sensation afflicting his wrist. His left wrist, still quite blackened from the looks of it, had started tingling during his and David’s third round of mind-melting sex. The sensation was mildly annoying, like an itchy mosquito bite that took forever to disappear, though luckily not worsening thus far.

And then there was the crusty and uncomfortable mess lower down, the dried bodily fluids flaking off of his flesh with the tiniest movement of his legs. Not to mention the ‘special’ concoction lodged within his surely gaping ass. Gross. He supposed the exceptional perks of consensual intercourse had to come with a few disadvantages.

His desire to be rid of the mess meant it was time to address his second fear: water. Only, instead of restricting himself to the shoreline as he ordinarily did when washing his nasty clothes or even nastier wounds, he intended to fully submerge himself. Easier said than done, his inner voice whispered which had Quentin growling lowly. Whatever doubt his mind dropped in his path, his refused to allow it to completely block his road to recovery.

He had procrastinated with this particular fear for awhile, dicked around with it to the point of actually making it worse. Now it was time to condemn the stupid thing to an ironically watery grave.

Carefully extracting himself from burly limbs, Quentin sauntered over to his pile of clothes. His vest and beanie had been lost during his previous trial while his T-shirt was riddled with several tears and blood stains. Begrudging leaving his tattered shirt behind, Quentin then eyed David’s jacket thoughtfully before moving to drape said jacket over the sleeping man. The nip in the air was liable to wake the scrapper now that his body heat was removed. Hence, he hoped the jacket helped to ward off the faint cool breeze blowing about.

Giving David another fond smile, Quentin gathered up his remaining clothes and quietly tiptoed away. Walking around naked probably was not the smartest idea but the nearest lake was literally twenty steps from where he and David screwed. Also, the chances of running into someone else before then was slim. The close proximity of a waterbody was primarily why he picked out that specific spot for their ‘activities’—aside from its secluded nature, better-than-average lighting, and peaceful ambience.

Setting his clothing to the side after arriving, Quentin gazed out at the ever-mesmerizing scene displayed to him. At a distance, the waterscape radiated a tranquil energy which could subdue even the rowdiest of souls. One glance into the liquid abyss and his problems effortlessly bled into the background to be forgotten. These naturally abundant pools were indeed a blessing, and to squander his time merely thinking of the enjoyment to be had was torture. He understood this well now, and Quentin utterly rejected the notion of allowing Freddy to hold his love for water hostage any longer.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the lakeshore and hovered on its damp edge. This was familiar enough: the chill from the lake faintly kissing his skin and the squishy feeling of mud between his toes. His heart, however, knew of what was to come and periodically skipped a beat in response.

Staring out ahead, Quentin happily noted that all appeared quiet, the submerged flora lighting random paths in the water. Temptation swiftly manifested within his brain, the sensation aiding his resolve immensely which motivated him to take a couple of steps inside the lake. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Nice and slow,” he voiced aloud, his heart and mind gradually wavering, “n-nice and slow.”

Knee deep, the feeling of something sharp grazing his foot had Quentin immediately dashing back to the safety of the shoreline. Wide eyes frantically scanned every ripple for gleaming claws or a battered fedora while his fingers and knees dug into the damp sediment.

“J-Just a rock,” he muttered shakily to himself, “it was just a stupid fucking rock.”

Clutching his cross and medallion in a vice, he mouthed a short prayer of encouragement while fortifying his strength of will to succeed. Standing firmly upright, Quentin glared at the soundless lake with fervent determination and breached its shallow depths once more.

\--------------------

A sharp rock, a slimy vine, a rouge ripple; it all ended with him frightfully abandoning his objective and beating his fists in the ground. Obviously the slow and steady approach was not working as desired. If he were to overcome this, he had to utilize a more daring method. He had to dive in, and a large boulder conveniently lining the lakeshore was to be the instrument for his liberation from this bullshit fear.

The weathered boulder vaguely resembled a starting block which made this approach _moderately_ easier to stomach. Something familiar might trick his mind into reliving an older, fearless memory associated with his swimming days. Stepping up on the surrogate block, Quentin anxiously eyed the watery depths of the lake. Perhaps it was best to take a running leap to avoid chickening out though he was already backing up while pondering the idea.

“A leap of faith,” he whispered nervously into the breeze. No pressure whatsoever right?

Steadying his breathing as best as he was capable, Quentin clenched his hands into fists and sprinted up the rock. This was it! One foot after the other, a single jump and then this fear would disappear like a miserable castaway lost at sea. Freddy’s waiting for you, his inner voice cooed in the creepiest manner, and you’ll drown over and over again.

Lungs seizing as bubbles of oxygen floated just out of reach. A cold, watery embrace dragging him deeper and deeper into endless darkness. A deafened cackle ringing in his ears while arms and claws held his flailing body impossibly close.

Drown, drown, drown. He was going to drown; he was going to _drown!_

Screeching to a violent halt, he narrowly slipped in if it was not for stiff arms branching out to clasp onto the boulder like a lifeline. Goddammit! He had been so close, so _fucking_ close, and now… maybe it was not too late. Quentin tried forcing his rigid arms to loosen for a minute before banging his forehead lightly into the grainy stone when his commands went unheeded.

“Dammit,” he snarled out though the word sounded more akin to a whimper.

Panting abnormally heavily, he gritted his teeth together painfully tight in order to choke back a frustrated sob. Why was he unable to do this? _Why was this so fucking hard?_ And fuck his stupid brain for making it harder!

“Quen?”

Freddy? It was Freddy, and his voice had resounded from behind. Oh god, oh no! The bastard, having likely grown tired of his pitiful attempts to enter the lake, probably crawled out of the fog or the water, or whatever fucking place, to personally throw him in. Fuck that!

A liquid-like courage to fight flooded his veins which drove much needed heat back into his clammy skin. He had to fight, he had to fight in order to feel safe again as that was the only thing that mattered. Launching himself at the shadowy figure, he proceeded to channel all of his rage and unhappiness into his blows which, unfortunately, were being expertly dodged.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down.” Quentin barely registered the words, his elbow jutting out sideways to connect with his assailant’s jaw. Freddy had done the seemingly impossible by crossing into survivor territory, but he was not helpless prey. He was going to fight and defend, fight and d—

“Oi, stop it!” the male, with a distinct British accent, yelled as he blocked the knee aimed for his exposed crotch. “ _It’s me!_ ”

Freezing temporarily, he took a moment to physically see the identity of his attacker which had him gasping in shock. David, still equally naked and sullied, released a long exhale and gathered Quentin in his muscly arms.

“It’s just me love,” David softly expressed as the man inhaled the scent of his curly hair.

“I… dammit,” Quentin trembly breathed out as the fight drained from his riled body, “m’sorry David. I-I thought you were… someone else.”

“Guess m’lucky not ta be the ‘someone else’ then,” David uttered, the scrapper retracting his arms and staring somewhat worriedly at Quentin. “But wha’ was ‘at all ‘bout? Why were ya—”

“Nothing! It was nothing. I-I was just about to clean up but I, umm, slipped on the rock.”

“Uh,” the scrapper voiced in confusion while one hand rubbed at the back of his mused, dark-taupe hair, “but you’re ‘fraid of water.”

Making a surely disagreeable face, Quentin argued, “I’m not afraid of the water.”

“C’mon love, don’t lie ta me. I’ve seen ya ‘nough times—”

“Fuck off!” Quentin aggressively shouted at the brute for the purpose of making it clear that baseless accusations were not welcome. “M’not _afraid!_ ”

A scowl formed on David’s face, the man folding his arms across his body and nodding towards the lake. “‘en jump in.”

“I will!”

Huffily marching to the edge of the boulder, one glance downward and his fiery resolve dropped into the pit of his gut. His hands unconsciously shook at his sides while his breathing practically froze in his throat. You can’t do it, his mind declared adamantly, you can’t make it easy for Freddy. But the bastard was not even here… right?

Quentin yelped as a shove from behind sent him stumbling into the water. An icy cold promptly bit into his flesh while his thought processes kicked into overdrive. What the hell? Why was he suddenly underwater? He did not wish to be in the water!

Resurfacing quickly, his instinct for flight effectively dampened his ability to smoothly tread water. There was nothing brushing against his submerged limbs nor was there any visible threats rising up to harm him, and yet he was incapable of settling down. His mind ran through a variety of scenarios, each one vividly demonstrating his unpleasant demise. The longer he remained in the water, the greater the chance of drowning. And he did not want to drown! He did not, but his body refused to swim to the shoreline. Drown and die, drown and die, dr—

“ _No!_ ” Quentin helplessly wailed which did diddlysquat to drown out the horrible mantra bouncing around in his skull.

A big splash by his side managed to get his butt moving slightly though his fleeing was cut short by something tugging him backwards. Forcibly spun around, Quentin came face-to-face with a stony looking scrapper staring intently into his orbs.

“Oi! Look at me Quen,” David commanded, his hands coming up to frame Quentin’s face, “ _look at me!_ ”

“No, no, no, no,” he hastily spoke to no one in particular, his palms weakly pushing the obstructing body out of his line of sight. Freddy might be lurking behind said body and he did not want to be taken by surprise. Or the dream demon might be hiding to his left behind that other boulder, or maybe—

A swift slap across his cheek silenced his panicked thoughts and drove a little sense back into his fear-filled brain.

“Back with me love?”

Untrusting of his voice, Quentin offered the other male a ghost of a nod while his orbs shakily surveyed every inch of the water. He knew he was acting irrationally but it seemed beyond his control. His heart thumped erratically behind his breast, his limbs were stricken with a form of paralysis unrelated to the bitter chill from the water, his speedy breaths burned at his lungs and esophagus, and his mind dwelled solely on the thought of fleeing from danger.

“ _Quentin!_ ”

Snapping his gaze back to David, those hazel-green eyes harshly boring into his face had a somewhat calming effect on him. The expression grounded him, in a sense, or reminded him that his fear was not to be indulged. Uncaring of their nakedness, Quentin rested his forehead on a firm chest and tried to breathe through his anxiety while arms encircled his heaving shoulders.

David whispered soothing words in his ear while he merely eyed the water droplets running down the scrapper’s collarbone. Each droplet created a teeny ripple which barely spanned beyond their bodies though was strangely fascinating to observe. What water drops failed to fall were tentatively licked clean which had David groaning lowly.

He was safe, Quentin attempted to reassure himself, and everything was fine. No, everything was _going_ to be fine.

Slowly curling his arms around David to complete the hug, he cared not how long they stayed locked in this embrace provided that the scrapper did not let go too soon. His senses kept registering invisible threats from all around but, thankfully, his frantic heartrate was stabilizing. The need to fight or take flight was dissipating alongside the numerous goosebumps which had sprouted on the surface of his skin upon being cast into the chilly water. Another tiny blessing in… wait a fucking second! He was unable to build up the nerve to jump from the boulder, so—

“Feelin’ alright?”

Hastily deducing that David had shoved him into the lake, Quentin grumbled out a weak, “Y-You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Heh. Ya, I know.” The admission did not make him feel better, but at least the scrapper did not deny it. “Pretty though innit?”

“Pretty?”

“The lake,” David elaborated while his glimmering orbs roamed the expanse of the poorly-lit water. “Reminds me of the one where I swam laps with Feng… or the laps she swam ‘round me.”

Briefly snickering at that, Quentin expressed a quiet, “She won then?”

“Only just,” David said while ignoring the skeptical look he received afterwards, “but I bet you’d give ‘er a real challenge.”

Throwing a curious look at the other male, Quentin cautiously asked, “What makes you think that?”

He recollected informing David of his fancy for swimming but only as a recreation hobby, a passing interest. Withholding his true passion for the sport was to avoid sensitive questions or having to go into the water.

“Laurie told me you loved swimmin’ yet—”

“Yeah, I guess,” Quentin conceded with a sliver of a frown, “but—”

“—I’ve neva seen ya swim. Reckon its got somethin’ ta do with—”

“Freddy,” he snappily finished for David. “It’s _always_ about Freddy.”

“Not always.”

He squeaked in surprise when a pair of lips fiercely molded over his own. Surrendering to the wonderful sensation, Quentin reciprocated with modest eagerness. His fright was not fully cured yet he found his anxiety fading with every rough press and tender nip to his lips. Quentin might develop an addiction if he was not careful.

“This your idea of a distraction?”

David chuckled some mere inches from his mouth, a sound most satisfying to hear, before asking, “Is it workin’?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he confessed, his knee accidently brushing against what Quentin assumed to be the other male’s growing erection, “but m’not up for doing anything crazy in the water.”

“Well… maybe later,” the scrapper suggested with a flirty wink and a toothy grin. God, it was pure teasing devilry to witness.

“Horny bastard,” Quentin muttered with affection and humour, his words accompanied by a half-hearted punch to David’s shoulder. How the hell was he going to keep up with this guy?

Shrugging knowingly and seemingly without shame, David said, “Wha’ wrong with ‘at?”

“Nothing,” he uttered with a shake of his head, “you’re just so weird.”

“But ya love m—” David attempted to say before a fog hovered in to surround the scrapper.

“W-Wait, no,” Quentin frightfully voiced, “you-you can’t go. I’ll—”

“Quen!” David shouted likely to garner his undivided attention while palms wetly clapped onto both of his shoulders. “Freddy’s not ‘ere, and he _neva_ will be.”

The statement echoed in his skull though it did not linger for too long. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered out in agreement, “you’re right.”

“‘Course I am,” the scrapper declared with a confident grin and then David leaned in to plant a parting kiss on his moist lips. “I’ll see ya back at the fire.”

“Be careful,” Quentin told the other before watching David vanish from sight.

The absence of his boyfriend eventually set in which, in turn, allowed his mind to once again hyper-focus on his current location. Quentin initially wished to resume eradicating his troubling fear, but he figured giving his stressed mind a break was required—while his limbs yet responded to his commands too. Additionally, his useless panicking and flailing had made him rather sleepy.

The feats he had performed, or rather he and David performed, were acceptable successes in his books. With continued efforts made in the future, Quentin whole-heartedly believed his full recovery to be obtainable. Besides, the benefits of both intercourse and swimming were quite hard to pass up and he knew David would be willing to help—especially if it involved celebratory sex afterwards.

Grasping at his necklace while wading back to shore, Quentin went to redon his clothes and head back to the campfire. Thankfully his brief dip in the lake removed the bodily fluids clinging to his nether regions. In addition to that, it appeared David had brought his clothes and left them in a pile alongside Quentin’s own. Why had the scrapper not redressed in the first place? Had the man known about the lake nearby or had David simply heard his cries of despair? The latter possibility had him blushing with embarrassment.

Since David had no further use for his clothes at the moment, Quentin used David’s jeans to dry off his slick body. Not the most ideal substitute towel but it sufficed. Swiping the scrapper’s jacket to cover his torso and redressing his lower half, Quentin offered one last appreciative glance at the lake before departing.

He had done it; he had finally gone entirely into the water. David did it actually, his mind corrected to which he sneered irritably at. Of course David helped… even if said help was absolutely dickish. Such mannerisms were apart of the scrapper’s unique charm though, and Quentin had grown fondly accustomed to it.

Strolling through the forest, he reveled in feeling excellent for a change and he desired not to lose such a pleasant sensation too quickly. He had David to thank for that. Perhaps he should put together a medical kit for David to use in future trials. Lord knew the scrapper needed it with all the injuries he constantly acquired.

Entering the campground, Quentin made to greet his friends present only to frown at the vicinity. No one was here? Odd. It was extremely rare to see the area lacking bodies, and it was a touch suspicious. Perhaps something had happened, something sinister and costly to his friends? What if someone was hurt from the trial? No, no, that was unlikely given how David had been carried off not terribly long ago. Or maybe a certain sick fucking bastard managed to—

“No,” Quentin abruptly hissed to himself.

Freddy was _not_ here. The monster was trapped elsewhere and unable to cross the threshold into their safe haven—the man would burn all over again if he tried. Quentin had to get that through his stubborn brain for good otherwise the stress was going to destroy him. Thinking of burning, a subtle peek at his blackened wrist told him the damage from before was still mending albeit at a sluggish pace. Why was it taking so long for it to return to its usual pale beige colour? Whatever; it was going to heal eventually and sleep was the priority right now anyways.

Assuming the others either off surviving in a trial or off frolicking in the woods, Quentin settled down near the crackling fire. His friends were sure to return in due time so he was not going to fret uselessly over their whereabouts. Otherwise, if no one was here when he woke up, then he might shout for them. They were probably scattered not too far into their surrounding forested area anyways.

The log underneath his head was nowhere near as comfortable as lying on top of David though it was a dramatic improvement over the bare ground. Soaking in the warmth the dancing flames gave off, he let out a tired yawn before shutting his eyes. A content smile formed on his lips when a blank void gradually engulfed his fatigued mind. Soon.

Now there remained but one horrendous fear left to confront: Freddy. However, the opportunity to do so—without sure-fire failure—was possible only when his other two fears were fully dealt with. Then, and only then, was he going to face the man head-on. Until then, he had a few ideas on how to prepare for their eventual encounter. Ideas which he would act upon later; much later.

Feeling his sore limbs relax alongside his exhausted mind, Quentin recited a wordless prayer for general happiness and hope for his friends here—including himself—before succumbing to the enticing, pitch-black gateway to blissful sleep.


	37. The Dangers Of Madness

A frustrated sigh escaped David when the fog cleared and Quentin was gone. He stewed in his loathing as he glared grumpily at the skinny, paper birch trees and the makeshift walls—comprised of scrap metal—surrounding him. Why did the Entity always have such shite timing? Hell, the bitch probably dragged people into trials like this on purpose. She seemed the type to be repulsed by tenderness and whatnot, or maybe their captor just craved her precious _meat_. Bloody twisted cunt.

“Over here.”

David spun around to see Bill beckoning him closer through a gap in the trash wall. Joining the elder on the other side, he and Bill crouched in front of the inactive generator there and got to work. Their repairs transpired in relative silence minus numerous screams, nearly back-to-back, piercing through the chilly air every so often.

Given the lack of prolonged shouts in comparison to frequent short shouts, David concluded that their killer this time around must be The Doctor. Normally a wild card, and the smiley man typically preferred outsmarting them versus slugging them. A least this trial was not looking to be a snooze fest.

Approximately fifty percent into the repair work, the eerie quiet between him and Bill was growing far too unsettling to bear. An idle mind was immeasurably worse to contend with than idle hands, and a little conversation with the older male seemed long overdue.

“‘aven’t seen ya ‘round the fire much,” he commented, as a way of breaking the tension, while eyeing the veteran critically.

For the past couple of trials, though the specific count eluded David, Bill had been noticeably absent from the campground. Additionally, and most importantly, the elder appeared to be fairly distance, and potentially distrustful he might venture to say, of Quentin.

The veteran had made his opinions more-or-less known, which were supposedly backed by experience on the battlefield, about the boy sometime ago. Those opinions explicitly suggested that Quentin was going to ‘slip’ and willingly allow Freddy to sink his claws into him again—metaphorically speaking. David remained appalled by the sheer thought of it and labelled the idea as lunacy. Although, Quentin was known to be overly protective of them which meant... no, no, that was not going to happen. He would do everything in his power to prevent the selfless idiot from sacrificing himself for them again. And especially _not_ for the likes of that perverted bastard.

“Been busy,” Bill answered which snapped David back to reality.

“Catchin’ winks?”

The veteran threw him an almost listless glare and said, “I was lookin’ for exits with Megan.”

“Oh... uh, any luck with ‘at?”

“Not yet.”

“Mhm. ‘at’s… wait, you’re not smokin’,” he pointed out, having now just noticed the absence of a white cylinder hanging from Bill’s lips. “Finally quit?”

“I’ve been lookin’ for some,” the elder grumbled out, “but I found Meg instead. Figured she could use some help, and if I spotted any cigs out there…”

It was all about his nicotine addiction? David never expected Bill to be that insensitive, for lack of a better word, but maybe the veteran did not wish to pester Meg by offering her any advice. Assuming the runner actually listened to or acknowledged said advice in the first place. She was an incredibly stubborn lass.

Awkward pleasantries aside, David trained his hardened gaze on Bill and asked a more pressing question. “Gonna stop givin’ Quen the cold shoulder?”

The elder peered across the machine at him with a frown and then defensively voiced, “Never said I was.”

“Ya don’t gotta say—”

“Kid’s a tough little soldier,” Bill sternly interjected, his steely gaze strong enough to crack glass. “He can handle himself, but I’ll still be ‘round to save him when necessary.”

“But ya still think he’ll run back ta Freddy?”

“I  _hope_  he won’t,” the veteran softly spoke, the distress in his tone just barely heard.

“M’not one for preachin’ faith,” David patiently threw out, “but would it kill ya ta ‘ave a little in ‘im?”

Bill simply grumbled under his breath which had David soundlessly seething. With his urge to fight soaring, David mistakenly sparked two incorrect wires together and caused an explosion. A couple of seconds later, a shrill scream—definitely longer in duration than the others—echoed out from across the cluttered field.

“Goddam—”

“Go,” Bill calmly implored, his outward agitation projecting only from his furrowed brows, “I’ll finish this.”

“The killer—”

“For Christ’s sake son, get moving!” the elder gruffly barked. “You’re wastin’ time.”

Given how the explosion was his fault, David was inclined to stay behind to finish the repairs and possibly deal with the killer. As such, he was half tempted to pry the old codger off the machine and force him away, but Meg was not the only, overly stubborn individual in their group.

Leaving the elder behind to complete the repairs, David purposely sprinted through the field to garner the attention of the killer. His decision to do so, though utterly foolish, was intended to buy Bill a little more time. Granted, if he were successful in luring the killer, the person on the hook may not be rescued immediately. It was a risk he was prepared to undertake though his captured teammate may not appreciate being essentially forgotten.

Instead of happening upon the killer, a searing burn materializing in his skull drove a pained shout from his throat. The Doctor then, guaranteed, and the cackling bloke had apparently discovered Bill before the older male had finished repairing the generator. Damn!

Once he saved this person, he would take the heat off of Bill. He was dying for a decent scrap anyways, and The Doctor typically provided an excruciating, though thrilling, challenge.

Maneuvering around a large hill and a hollow bus, David eventually found Feng trying to stifle her whimpers as she dangled from a meat hook. Quickly and carefully yanking her free from the contraption, he was promptly slapped across the face.

“Gah!” David yelped and then rubbed at his stinging cheek. “The ‘ell’s yer problem?”

“You know what it’s for. How could you say that to Nea? And...” Feng paused, her furious tone shifting to a curious one as she whispered, “is it true?”

“Hmph. Fishin’ for gossip or somethin’?” he bitterly uttered, arms folding across his torso. “Thought she’d ‘ave told ya ‘bout her past.”

“Meg maybe, and you apparently,” she sharply voiced while handing him a roll of gauze, “but not anyone else as far as I know.”

“Huh...” David mindlessly accepted the gauze thrusted his way and went to bind the gamer’s wound. He was partly surprised that Nea did not divulge that information to the rest of the group. It must have been more personal than he originally thought.

“It’s whatever,” Feng piped up a moment later, “it’s her bullshit to share when she wants to share it. M’just mad that you _actually_ stooped so low as t—”

“You’re not ‘at mad,” he coolly remarked. “You’d ‘ave done worse ‘an a slap if you were.”

The gamer released an annoyed growl and then revealed, “Fine! M’not mad that you got on her case. The girls and I have been trying to get her to talk to Meg for awhile now—”

“Loada good ‘at’s done.”

“Are you asking for another slap?” she hastily spat, neck cranking to the side to eye David threateningly. “I’ll make sure to aim _really_ low this time.”

Wanting to avoid a blow to his manhood, David exasperatedly demanded, “Wha’ d’ya want me ta do? M’not apologizin’ for—”

“You _can_ apologize for being an ass—”

“If I ‘ad a quid for every time I’ve ‘eard ‘at—”

“—and for bringing up sensitive shit. It’s like when Quentin told us about… about his shit, and Laurie with hers. Maybe they were ready to tell us, or maybe we brute forced it outta them, but… j-just fucking apologize to Nea okay!” Feng hissed out rather harshly with tears gathering in the corners of her dark, soul-penetrating orbs.

Damn those teary eyes. Perhaps his mentioning of the tag artist’s friends and family went a little overboard. If their situations were reversed, he knew his accuser would have been pummelled into the ground. His reaction, however, would have resulted purely from the truth and boy did the truth bite like a savage bitch.

“Fine,” David grouchily conceded as he put the final touches on her bandaged shoulder, “but Nea betta do someth—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she will,” Feng firmly asserted as she stood up and dusted off her clothes. “Anyways, how’s Quentin doing? Is his arm—”

An extended cry from Bill had the two of them averting their respective gazes in the direction of the pained sound.

“Shite! ‘ink you can get the gens done while I—”

“Hell yeah! I need to beat my badass gen speed record anyways. Just try not to cry too badly about it after the trial loser!” Feng exclaimed, her eagerness matching her swift strides as she booked it to the juncture leading to the other side of the realm.

David was kind enough not to mention the recent speed record Jake had acquired although, with her unquenchable thirst for competition, Feng was likely to surpass it in due time. Ensuring that the gamer was not unexpectedly followed by the killer, David raced back across the field to find Bill. Thankfully the other was hung in front of the generator they had started together—a generator which was sadly unfinished—so he did not have to scour the area for too long.

“Easy now,” David breathed out after approaching the elder, “I gotch—”

“Finish the gen,” Bill hissed, a distinct warning laced within his tone. “Now!”

Not fully understanding the urgency, David nevertheless started repairing the damaged machine to completion. He was fortunate not to have caused another explosion since the first wire he grabbed seemed almost electrified to the touch. Swiftly connecting the remaining two wires together, the generator roared to life at the same time David uncontrollably screamed out in agony. The dull buzz in his skull had intensified to a sharp jolt which practically set his brain cells ablaze. Such a sudden onset meant that The Doctor was skulking around nearby.

Giving his head a firm shake, he speedily rescued Bill and motioned for the elder to flee. Unlike him, Bill did not hesitate to heed his instruction and hobbled away to avoid receiving a second hook too soon. It showed how much trust the elder had in him, or perhaps the other was merely acting strategically. Regardless of the reasoning, David was more than thrilled to keep the killer preoccupied.

Hearing heavy footsteps closing in, David subtly peeked behind one corner of the substitute scrap-cube wall and spotted The Doctor literally three feet before him. Orbs widening in alarm, he willed his limbs to move and narrowly managed to slam down the pallet between him and the killer. Regrettably his reflexes were off by a sliver of a second and a blunt strike to his shoulder connected.

Clutching the bleeding scratches from the nails, David glared at The Doctor and said, “Lucky shot.” The Doctor had yet to break the pallet and simply eyed him with strange curiosity. “S’wrong pal? ‘fraid of me?”

The killer cackled heartily at his words, the noise royally irking David. As he was about to hurl out an insult, The Doctor slightly tilted his head to the side and commented, “Your tolerance for pain is impressive, as is your protective instincts.”

“Huh?” David was genuinely surprised the killer had spoken to him. But why the hell was the other male pointing out his virtues?

Watching as the killer leaned toward him, as much as the slanted pallet permitted, The Doctor kindly asked, “Would you do me the honour of indulging a little experiment of mine?”

Confused by the bloke’s words, he barely missed the charged palm of electricity being built up. Clicking his teeth in anger, David failed to avoid the shocking blast which resulted in him screaming yet again. Gathering his senses, he took off running when he heard the sound of wood shattering.

All around the field they went where The Doctor chased him relentless. Oddly enough, the killer stuck to blasting him with electricity which was honestly more infuriating than getting downed. Was The Doctor purposely fucking with him? The killer certainly sounded elated when he avoided the man only to nearly run into a rock or a stack of tires. Goddamn hallucinations.

Given the unique situation, David conserved what few pallets remained in the vicinity but his rage and boredom was beginning to impede his judgement.

“Is constantly shockin’ me yer idea of an experiment?” David heatedly questioned from atop a hill, the killer fuzzing in and out of place every so often. “It’s rubbish—”

“I beg to differ,” The Doctor contested and then cocked an ear to the sky when two familiar pings rang out overhead, “though perhaps I should expedite the process before our time together concludes prematurely.”

Davis narrowed his eyes when he noticed the killer switching back to his spiked stick. It looked as though the crazed man was about to get serious. Good.

“Finally,” David murmured excitedly, his body itching for a real tussle while his electrified brain threatened to burst right out of his throbbing skull.

Waiting for the killer to ascend the hill, he proceeded to jump down and entice the killer into another, hopefully entertaining, chase. David tactically refrained from leaving the area since accidentally leading the killer to his mates was not an option and, with luck, they were finishing up the last generator.

Another brain-splitting pain passed through his skull, the intense agony throwing off his stride just enough for The Doctor to strike him down. At least he managed to slam three pallets in the bastard’s face beforehand. It was not a terribly impressive number, but it was satisfying all the same. Now though, he _really_ needed to get rid of this pesky, torturous headache.

“Ya finally got me,” he sarcastically said after spitting out a wad of dirty grass from his mouth. “Feels _bad_ , don’ it?”

“It feels rather gratifying actually,” The Doctor countered smoothly, the man briefly smacking his weapon against his palm before maneuvering David on his shoulder. “Shall we continue the experiment?”

“You’re still on, ungh, ‘bout ‘at?” David griped tiredly while trying his damnedest to wiggle free. “Wha’, ungh, exactly are ya—”

“You haven’t noticed yet?” the killer asked, clearly fascinated, before roughly dropping David face-first on the grungy basement floor. “Interesting.”

“Fuck off—”

Another excruciating shock prevented David from finishing his curt curse, the electricity rendering him blind and deaf for a split second.

“Perhaps your lack of awareness stems from your concern for your friends.”

The Doctor administered two more shocks, the sickening staticky ring in his ears competing with the man’s obnoxious cackling.

“You must care for them a great deal with how often you protect them,” the killer casually stated, “shield them from harm.”

More shocks ensued to the point where David was incapable of perceiving his surrounding clearly. Blurry shapes, twitching limbs, quiet whimpers, and a garbled voice were the only things his brain seemed to remotely register. If the killer kept shocking him, he was either going to puke or black out. He had to get up; he had to lamp this bastard… why was it so fucking hard to concentrate?

“Though surely there must be one you hold in higher standing. I recall your friendship with the spunky artist, Nea, and the chancy male, Ace, to be quite strong.”

David belatedly noted that the killer had stopped shooting electricity at his quivering body. Seeking out The Doctor, he was mildly perplexed to see Nea standing nearby. The tag artist appeared to be observing him with a strangely pleasant smile yet something was definitely wrong. She was vexed at him for… for what? He was unable to recall what they were arguing about. Fighting about?

In the blink on an eye, Nea was replaced by Ace, the man gradually circling around him with the same odd smile. What the hell? In an effort to prove that this was a hallucination, David shakily snagged the gambler by the ankle and squeezed. Under his palm, he felt coarse fibres and body heat radiating through the fabric. This was… real? But they were not even in this trial though, were they?

Was this a trial?

“Or perhaps,” the garbled voice resumed as his hand was kicked away, “you hold one of the gentler sorts most dear. Your anxious leader, Dwight, or the compassionate healer, Claudette.”

“Mates,” David slurred in confusion at the sight of Dwight and Claudette, the two of them imitating what Nea and Ace had previously done. “Wha’s ‘appenin’…”

His temper was flaring in response to the weirdness he was experiencing. There were too many faces in one place for this to be a trial. Were his friends just screwing with his noggin or… was he dreaming? He really wanted to hit someone, anyone honestly. The thought of planting his bare fist into a bony nose or an eye socket, or a squishy cheek, was immensely appealing. Christ, he was physically trembling from the blazing fire racing through his veins. What was wrong with him?

“However, I’ve heard whispers that it’s the newest soul whom has captured your full attention: Quentin. Freddy’s precious little boy.”

The only word David caught was a name, the name of his most despised nemesis, and his uncharacteristic fury instantly exploded inside of him like a thermonuclear bomb. That voice, it was… it was that horrible gravelly voice. It was _him!_

David stiffly rose to one knee, sent The Nightmare the hottest of glares, and breathlessly spat, “Don’ you fuckin’ say ‘is name.”

“Oh my,” the killer uttered in a slightly off voice, “it seems I jostled a sensitive nerve.”

“Shut yer trap!”

Throwing an uncoordinated cross at the burnt wanker, David hissed when his fist was skinned grazing the wall. Was he wobbling? There was no way that blow had missed. Snarling at the fuzzy looking, cackling killer, he aggressively launched himself at the bastard in earnest. He was going to absolutely _pulverize_ this walking swiss cheese.

“Hasty, impatient,” The Nightmare rattled with a disgusting smirk while easily dodging his punches, “defensive when threaten—”

“ _Shut it!_  Imma send ya crawlin’ back inta yer dreamworld!” he yelled in the form of a promise. “Now hold _still!_ ”

“Dreamworld?” the killer muttered thoughtfully. “Dreamworld... I see.”

“See ‘at you’re a worthless, bloody coward?” David angrily spat. “Just wait ‘til I’m done with ya… _wha’s so damn funny?!_ ”

“Such anger,” The Nightmare noted cheerily, those blurry orbs of his lighting up like a dying star. “Does it bother you when I  _play_  with Quentin?”

David roared at the question and delivered countless punches in retaliation which all failed to connect. What was happening? The wanker must be cheating somehow, and… why did his body hurt so much?

“Or perhaps it frightens you,” the killer continued to prattle on, “the idea that you will never save him fr—”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” David boomed and then spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Why was he bleeding? The Nightmare had not landed a hit on him besides the one on his arm. No, wait, that wound was not from Freddy. When did he cut his arm? Whatever; they were just scratches anyway. “You’re just miffed ya can’t ‘urt Quen anymore.”

“How fascinating. Are you certain I cannot harm Quentin?”

“He ain’t ‘ere—”

“I’ll see him again soon enough,” Krueger swiftly and confidently affirmed while twirling something in the air. “Maybe he might come to me.”

“In yer dreams,” he panted out in exhaustion, “y’bloody wrinkled knob.”

His lungs… was it always so difficult to breath? Never before had he experienced this kind of constricting pressure from merely swinging at his opponent. The only comparable pain to this were those few instances when he had his ribs broken fighting in the ring back home.

“You seem confidence,” the killer assessed before crouching in front of him, “yet I hear the doubt in your voice.”

“You’re fulla shite.”

When had he fallen to the ground? Did he fall? He possessed no memory of ever falling down. And what was… was this blood? Dragging his eyes across the dirty floor, David noticed that the distinct red tinge—a characteristic feature of the basement floor—was more vibrant than usual. Warm wetness coating his palm and the pungent metallic scent confirmed that the crimson liquid was indeed blood. He was lying in a pool of blood roughly the size of the ones which formed beneath their dangling bodies when they hung from hooks.

“You’re delusional,” he mumbled mostly to himself, the words hardly passing through his sore lips.

“On the contrary David, I am perfectly sane. The same, however, cannot be said for you.”

David abruptly wailed in agony at the electrical current flowing through his body. It felt as though his internal organs were liquefying from the inside out. Convulsing on the slippery floor, he clutched his head in both hands while his fingers tightly tugged at his short hair. The pain was too much. He was incapable of moving, speaking, or thinking beyond the agonizing burn racking through his system.

“Tell me: do you _love_ Quentin?”

Brandishing his teeth in an animalistic fashion, David kicked out at the man and managed to knock the other off balance. With the killer momentarily vulnerable, he forcefully beat back his severe pain and climbed on top of the dream demon. Winding back a bloodied fist, he launched it directly into the bastard’s smug face, a cold and solid sensation kissing his knuckles in return. Releasing a sort of triumphant battle cry, he fired off punch after punch at the figure below him.

“Frederick will be most interested to hear of my findings.”

As if he were submerged underwater, the statement sounded muffled and far away in David’s ringing ears. It was, however, irrelevant to him for his wavering attention was focused solely on the insufferable dream demon below him. Krueger took every punch like it was nothing and the bastard even had the gall to laugh throughout the whole beating too. Nonetheless, every laugh and cackle spurred David into further action until his limbs began disobeying his enraged will.

Until he found a means of erasing the man from existence, he was happy to settle for lamping the sick fuck into a mushy paste. Whatever it took to fully demonstrate to Krueger that naughty boy never learn their lessons. They stun those ridiculous lessons or rise above them with brutal force.

Despite his gruelling punishment however, as David decided to dub it, The Nightmare appeared completely unharmed. How was that possible? There had to be some damage transferring over, unless…

Oh Christ, was he truly in the dreamworld?

“Bast… Bastard,” he barely muttered, his field of vision swaying left and right. “Fuckin’ miserable… disgustin’… cowardly… cunt.”

The pain echoing throughout his head, which he had been successfully ignoring for the past few minutes, expanded tenfold in a matter of seconds. Shouting in sheer agony, David crushed the sides of his skull between his palms and doubled over on his side.

Why was this happening? Was the Entity stopping him from roughing up her chosen killer? Was he suffering from a wicked migraine that had miraculously manifested during his scuffle with The Nightmare? It was above his comprehension, untouched and free as it floated beyond the confines of his thought process. Was he… was he being devoured?

Rolling onto his belly, David scanned the basement for Freddy only to discover that he was alone. Seriously? Was the fucker too much of a wuss to finish him off? He wants you to suffer, his mind supplied logically before his inner voice screamed in tantum with his outer one.

“ _GAH!_ AH, AH… _GAH!_ ”

Pain, pain, pain. There existed nothing other than the extremely excruciating sensations plaguing his body and mind. Especially his head. His thoughts revolved around one, four-letter word as his vision gradually began to tunnel.

“AH, HA, HA… _GAH! AH!_ WHERE... WHERE’D YA GO? Y’BLOODY FUCKIN’ CUNT— _GAH!_ M’NOT DONE… _AH!_ M’NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!”

Feeling his body wildly convulse, he writhed and screamed himself hoarse as the pain consumed the lingering fire of his temper. This was the one and only time David wished for the sweet embrace of death and, as his vision was eventually stolen from him, he gratefully basked in the darkness.


	38. Fluff And Drama, Love And Lust

Soft rustling stirred Quentin into consciousness, his orbs minutely protesting from the blinding brightness of the campfire. Their primary source of light and warmth was a godsend every other time though certainly not right now. Rolling into a sitting position, he squinted through tears to locate the mysterious crinkling noise, the heinous accomplice in the murder of his poor eyes. More rustling directed his attention to his right where he spied Claudette perched on a log nearby. The botanist appeared to be enraptured by her latest plant haul as she delicately separated various herbs and stems into different piles.

“Oh, Quen,” she whispered in surprise upon seeing him awake, the botanist holding one palm over her mouth as if holding in a gasp, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, no... m’fine,” he sleepily replied as he rubbed at his watery, stinging eyes. Another dreamless sleep, another moment of pure bliss and restful healing, and hopefully many more to follow. Glancing at the botanist and the numerous plants scattered around her, he offered her a sheepish smile and said, “I could’ve helped you cull.”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” she softly spoke and then shimmied to the side to allow him to sit down beside her, “but if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand organizing them?”

“Yeah, sure,” Quentin agreed and grabbed a messy handful of plants to sort through, “as long as I can take a few for myself? I wanted to craft a kit for someone.”

“By all means,” she graciously murmured, her free hand vaguely gesturing to the plant piles, “take whatever you need.”

“Thanks but, umm, why’re you still whispering?”

“Ace’s sleeping over there,” she informed while pointing at the unconscious gambler across the campfire. Given the tranquil silence hovering in the air, he had assumed that he and Claudette were alone this whole time and he wordlessly berated himself for his earlier loudness. Although, thankfully, Ace had not roused prematurely due to his carelessness. One quick scan of the vicinity confirmed that they were the only three present which meant David, and possibly the others with him, had yet to return from the trial. “He bandaged your wrist too.”

“H-Huh? My wrist?”

Raising both hands for inspection, Quentin noted that his left wrist—the one with the blackened skin—was neatly bound with a few layers of gauze. He had nearly forgotten about the injury given its lack of tingling. However, if he torn away the gauze, he had a depressing suspicion that he would be greeted by the persistent sight of discoloured flesh. The thought alone made him nauseous yet it did not stop him from hatefully scowling at his wrist.

Fucking Freddy… always leaving his mark on him.

“Ace didn’t say much about it,” Claudette resumed as he remained fixated on the bandage folds, “but he did mention that it was The Nightmare’s doing.”

“Yeah,” Quentin affirmed in the form of a tired sigh, “it was. Freddy... he, uh, grabbed me through that barrier beyond the exit gate—”

“The black, spiky one?” At his somber nod, she eyed him with utter shock and shakily asked, “H-How? How could he…”

“M’not sure.”

Frankly, he was not ready to know how as he doubted his mind could handle the horrible truth—whatever it was. His meager speculation was stressful enough as it was and dwelling on whatever fuckery had happened in that moment only added to it. Furthermore, Quentin was content to focus on other things like the amazing sex he experienced with David or the progress he made in weakening the barriers protecting his crippling fears. Anything else honestly was acceptable as opposed to thinking of Freddy and his devilish, damaging ways.

Quentin briefly flinched when a pair of arms encircled his hunched form in a gentle embrace. It was an unexpected gesture though not unwelcome. Relenting to the comforting embrace, he returned the hug in full while unconsciously squeezing Claudette a little tighter than perhaps was necessary. Her braids tickled his chin as he soaked in the warmth and comfort she provided.

Feeling a tug on his—or rather David’s—jacket, he heard the botanist sniffle and then mumble out a quiet, “I’m so sorry.”

He soundlessly laughed at her comment and said, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Claudette stuck to burrowing her nose into the lapels of his borrowed jacket in lieu of vocalizing further apologies. She had a tendency to automatically apologize for every little thing which occasionally irked David, Feng or Meg. He, on the other hand, was ill-bothered by her, dare he say it, cute habit. At first, he thought it had something to do with her being Canadian as they were—as he knew them to be—the overly friendly and forgiving types. But no, it was a pleasant and endearing quality exclusive to Claudette. He prayed Dwight was equally accepting and appreciative of her compassionate nature.

The botanist gave him one final squeeze before retracting herself from him to gingerly rub at the undersides of her slightly reddened orbs. Once finished, she observed him cautiously while saying, “D’you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really, no,” he swiftly replied as he shifted back to the task of sorting. He wanted to forget even though he knew he never would. Side-eyeing Claudette, he cocked his head in confusion when he noticed the lack of flower tangled in her hair. “Got tired of wearing the rose?”

“Actually it wilted,” she revealed with a disappointed frown, “but it was really quick. Only a couple of seconds and then it was gone. I’ve never seen a flower wither that fast before. I mean, it was a cut flower so maybe… no, no, it couldn’t be because of that. It was nice while it lasted though.”

“Hmm, that is weird. I didn’t think that flowers could...” Quentin trailed off as a peculiar explanation popped inside his brain, one which had him unconsciously shivering in disgust. “When did it do that?”

“Umm... not too long ago, I think. Maybe around the time of your last trial,” she attempted to guess, teeth nipping at her bottom lip in contemplation, “but I really don’t know _when_ exactly.”

He mulled over the logistics of it and surmised that the flower had wilted around the time when Freddy had grabbed him and then bizarrely caught fire. His assumption was not flawless by any means, but surely the rose wilting the way it did, and roughly when it did, was not a mere coincidence. So what the hell did that imply? Was the shrivelled rose meant to symbolize something significant or was he overthinking the details?

“Quen. There’s, umm, something I wanted to ask you,” she hesitated to say while bunching one of the plant piles together with surgical thread for easier storage.

“Uh, okay,” he responded as he hastily finished sorting the remaining plants in his possession, “what is it?”

“Well, this is gonna sound a little, erm, random but,” she stammered out, her hands fidgeting in her lap, “can I cut your hair?”

Scrunching up his eyebrows in mild offense, he questioned, “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“N-Nothing, nothing!” she rapidly assured, her tone shifting from awkward to panicked in a short second. “It’s just, well, it’s getting really long and it looks like it’s getting in your eyes.”

“What Claud’s _trying_ to say,” Nea brazenly announced as the woman emerged from the treeline behind him and Claudette, “is that you look like a sheepdog.”

“Sh-Sheepdog?” he squeakily exclaimed. “I do not!”

“If you let those curls grow any longer,” Ace drawled from his spot across the campfire, “you’ll get there gorgeous.”

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” Quentin barked while thrusting an annoyed finger at the gambler and then orienting his gaze back to Claudette. “And-And besides, Claud, your hair’s grown out too. I thought you liked short hair.”

“I like both styles,” she admitted, “but I think I’m partial to my long hair.”

“And long hair hides the hickeys,” Nea declared with a saucy smirk, “right lotus?”

Coffee-coloured orbs widened immediately as dainty hands scrambled to conceal the column of her throat with long strands of black, braided hair. Quentin thought himself blind for not having noticed those faint markings sooner. Had his nap knocked his awareness for detail loose or something? Granted, it was none of his business but obviously this meant that her relationship with Dwight was going strong.

Ace sauntered closer to park himself on Claudette’s unoccupied side and gently peeled back a layer of hair from her smooth neck. “A few passionate nibbles are nothin’ to be embarrassed about sweetness.”

Claudette looked completely mortified after the gambler spoke, her face buried in the palms of her hands as the man patted her shoulder—perhaps in sympathy or as an apology. That knowing, toothy grin though told Quentin that Ace had a hidden motive besides embarrassing their friend. It was like watching two opposites interact at a high school party: the respectable, not sleazy, social butterfly trying to ease the shy, out-of-place introvert into the scene. Quentin had to admire the gambler for his persistence and Claudette even more for her patience. He idly wondered if the botanist knew what Ace was doing when the man spoke in such a sneakily, purposeful manner.

“C’mon cutie,” Nea implored from her seat nearest to the fire, “get your butt over here so I can see.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” he protested as his hands waved haphazardly in front of him. “I haven’t agreed to any—”

“Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later—”

“I doubt th—”

“Quentin. Please,” the tag artist pleaded, something sounding off in her tone, “lemme do it.”

She obviously had an interest in cutting his hair though, if his perception was on point, it seemed to be for multiple reasons. The slight pinch of her brow and the faint, shimmering lines stemming from the corners of her eyes spoke volumes too. Had she been crying?

A deep sense of worry washed over him as he eyed the tag artist with a slight frown and carefully asked, “Are you okay?”

“Hmph. I will be when you park your butt _here_ ,” she emphasized while grabbing him by his uninjured wrist and forcing him to sit closer to the fire, “and let me work my magic.”

Figuring that resistance at this point was futile, especially when it was three against one, Quentin decided to finally relent. Whether he was happy about it or not was up for debate. “Fine, but don’t cut it all off or give me a Mohawk, or something—”

“Calm down cutie. M’not gonna shave you bald or anything. ‘Sides, a certain someone will throw an absolute fit if I chopped off all these curls. Geez, your hair’s really silky and smooth...” Nea petered off to run her fingers approvingly through his messy locks in fascination.

“Thanks?” His hair should not be silky or smooth given how it had been drenched in sweat and water sometime ago. Maybe swimming in _that_ kind of water had something to do with it. This world was so fucking strange. “And by a certain someone—”

“I mean David,” Nea finished distractedly. “Now I understand why he likes fingering your hair so much.”

“Ugh,” he uttered in revulsion, his facial expression matching his cringy tone of voice, “could you  _not_  say it like that.”

“She’s right though kid,” Ace asserted as he too toyed with a few of his rogue curls. “Your wavy locks put the rest of us guys to shame.”

“Umm, I guess. It’s just hair th—”

“Ah, ah, ah, no dissing your hair,” Nea scolded and gave his skull a light smack for good measure. “Now we’re definitely trimming the bangs and fixing this bird’s nest in back here. Lotus, m’gonna need those scissors—”

“Do I get a say in this? And-and it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Nope, no say whatsoever, and it’s bad enough to need my expertise,” she countered after accepting the pair of surgical scissors presented to her. “Now sit straight and hold still.”

Grumbling to himself, Quentin allowed the tag artist to trim his hair. He knew Claudette would prevent Nea from going too crazy and bold with the styling—assuming she was actually observing the work.

While he resisted the urge to fidget, Ace crouched in front of him and nodded at his wrist. “How’s it feeling? Any pain?”

“It was tingling awhile ago, but it’s alright now. You really didn’t need to bandage it.”

The gambler shrugged indifferently and voiced an airy, “It never hurts to play it safe.”

“Still you... thanks Ace,” he eventually settled on in order to avoid a meaningless argument—one which he was guaranteed to lose.

Another smack to the back of his head startled him as he belatedly realized he had moved his head.

“S-Sorry, sorry,” he stuttered out, his posture straightening once again.

Nea resumed her diligent work, the intermittent snip-snip sounds of the scissors broken only by the crackling of the fire. The combination of noises was oddly calming, each sound mingling together to form a new and diverse song known only to the four of them. Such an aspect was never truly appreciated h—

“I went searching for Meg,” the tag artist blurted out which, judging by her tone, suggested to Quentin that her search had not gone well. The fact that she intentionally ventured out to look though… that was something.

“Did you find her?” Ace spoke, the man clearly reluctant to ask the obvious question.

“Nope.”

And that was the end of that. Quentin had the inclination to inquire about her sudden decision to seek out her girlfriend but refrained from speaking—Claudette and Ace seeming to mimic his silence. The curt answer Nea gave, in his opinion, said one of two things: she mentioned it for her own sake, not theirs, simply to tell herself that she _had_ indeed tried to find Meg; or she said it accidently and then regretted her decision shortly afterwards.

He bit his tongue to prevent the damn thing from waggling and to ward off his mounting curiosity. On the outside, Nea was quite daring—especially with her appearance when given the opportunity—and incredibly cheeky. She spoke her mind with a sort of flair which complimented her artist nature perfectly. However, Quentin noticed that her behaviour sometimes reflected that of an introvert and recently, with Meg gone, her insecurities were gradually surfacing.

Her instinct to ‘act out’ was likely a coping mechanism for her anxiety and depression as he had witnessed similar behaviour, though sparingly, with Jesse. For the time being though, Quentin did not wish to hound her with questions and opted to noiselessly pray for her happiness. Or, better yet, he might track down Meg for himself as this whole mess was starting to unnerve him.

Three different position changes later—to ensure proper lighting to each part of his head—and the tag artist released her hold on him.

“Please tell me you’re done,” he almost begged, his knees beginning to scream for a reprieve.

“Mm-hm,” Nea hummed cheerily, her tone depicted how delighted she was with her handiwork, “all done.”

Ace snapped his fingers, which then formed the vague shape of a gun, and remarked, “Very handsome.”

“‘Bout time that hair was taken care of.” The small group all turned to see Bill entering the campground with a lazy smile plastered on his face. “Now if only we had a comb t—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Quentin lowly uttered, a threatening look cast at the elder.

“Died huh?” Nea deduced, eyebrow arched in an almost tedious fashion at Bill. The oldest member did possess the disheartening habit of dying almost every trial.

“GUYS, HELP! WE NEED SOME HELP!”

Clambering to his feet, Quentin speedily trailed behind Ace and Bill as the three of them sought out the call for distress. Ten or so steps past the treeline and they stumbled upon Feng and Dwight, both injured, failing to support an unconscious David on their respective shoulders.

“Here, allow me,” Ace offered, the man switching places with the gamer. “Can’t have a lady swooning so sud—”

“Oh zip it! I coulda lifted him just _fine_ if I wasn’t hurt,” Feng heatedly argued to which Ace smirked wickedly at but nodded in agreement likely to avoid her wrath.

Bill swapped places with Dwight and gruffly asked, “What happened this time?”

“I dunno, he was freaking out or something,” Feng supplied, a hint of uncertainty mixed into her voice. Entering the campground, Quentin aided Bill and Ace with maneuvering David down to lie supine on the ground. “We got the gens and then got the doors,” she continued to explain, one hand gesturing aimlessly at the open air, “both of them, but David was nowhere to be found. Bill offered to go but th—”

“I found the killer instead.”

Dwight shot the elder a dejected look as he said, “We tried to get to you b—”

“It’s alright son. I knew what I was walking into.”

“Still…” the leader gloomy mumbled, his hand reaching up to remove his bloodied glasses.

“Y’know,” Claudette addressed the veteran as she examined Dwight’s wounds, “you don’t always have to save—”

“I never leave a man behind.”

“I meant alone,” Claudette finished meaningfully. “We’re here for each other, and that includes you.”

Bill hmphed and appeared to be indifferent about her comment aside from the thin frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Quentin comprehended the emotions the elder was wrestling with as he too was guilty of self-sacrifice. It was easy to believe in the idea of help and teamwork, but having to watch his teammates fall, or worse, did not seem worth the risk. He understood the reality of the struggle all too well, and he despised having to deal with the fallout of whatever choice he committed to—save his friends or save himself. No decision was ever the right one.

“So… what happened next?” Nea inquired after their awkward stretch of silence.

“Right, right, so Dwight and I found David in the basement screaming his head off. He was slamming his body into walls, punching the floor, and just… fuck,” Feng cursed in horrified frustration, “I don’t know. It was like he was fighting with himself, or something that wasn’t there.”

“We’ve all lost ourselves to his madness before,” Dwight pointed out, “b-but not like that.”

“Madness?” Ace commented. “So it was The Doctor?”

A nod from both Feng and Dwight prompted Quentin to then ask, “How’d you escape?”

“Getting David under control was the most difficult part,” Feng stated as she displayed her bruised neck for the rest of them to see. “And of course carrying his heavy ass.”

“He choked you?” Quentin questioned in disbelief. Why would David do that?

“Yeah, but he didn’t know it was me. Like I said: he was freaking out. Anyways, Dwight managed to get him offa me and then we pinned him down until he passed out. Teamwork for the win!”

Ace handed Feng a damp rag to clean the cuts on her lower stomach and then asked, “Did he say anything while he was, erm, out of it?”

“H-He mentioned Quentin’s name a few times,” their leader declared, “but he was mostly swearing.”

“Freddy…” Quentin trailed off to eye the ground numbly before diverting his gaze upward. “I think David was seeing Freddy.”

“That would explain his hyper aggression,” Feng said, “or maybe that was just the madness talking?”

“Or,” Nea hostilely chimed in, “you can just ask him what he saw when he wakes up.”

“If he even remembers.”

Quentin tuned out the others in favour of tending to his boyfriend. In the light, he noted how David was riddled with numerous cuts and bruises. Majority of the wounds looked minor though some seemed pretty gruesome. His overly battered knuckles and broken nose, for instance, were exceptionally painful to gawk at. He knew the scrapper was a glutton for fights, but why did David always acquire so many injuries? That pension of his for throwing punches was almost too insufferable to tolerate sometimes.

“Here,” Bill voiced as a jar of salve was thrusted into his line of sight, “use this.”

“Th-Thanks, but—”

“I’ll take care of this side,” the veteran uttered while gesturing to David’s left.

“Uh yeah, okay,” Quentin stammered out, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Quentin observed as Bill tenderly peeled off David’s destroyed jacket and undershirt, the elder setting the useless garments aside. What fabric was stubbornly clinging to the scrapper’s skin was cut away and disposed of in the fire. Snagging a pair of tweezers from Claudette’s medical pack, Quentin proceeded to remove several slivers of wood imbedded in David’s knuckles and, surprisingly, his arm.

The removal of the first piece, an acicular demon in disguise, forced fresh blood to gush out with a tiny fleck of it landing on his eyelash. Goddammit. This was going to take a lot longer than he originally believed.

“‘Suppose I owe you a bit of an apology,” Bill piped up, the elder plucking an elongated nail from the scrapper’s bicep. “For doubting you.”

Doubting? What was… right, the veteran was referring to the belief that he was going to willingly ‘slip’ back into Freddy’s arms. “Oh, umm, it’s fine.”

“It was unnecessary on my part t—”

“I get it. You’ve seen this kinda stuff play out before,” Quentin claimed, “and you think it’s gonna go a certain way because, well, you’ve seen it do that. M’not about to argue with your experience, but every situation is different so it’s possible for every outcome to be diff—”

“D’you always ramble when you’re nervous?” Bill voiced after letting out a hearty bark of laughter.

“I… shut up,” he mumbled, an embarrassed heat flaring in his cheeks. He did _not_ ramble.

“Quen,” a groggy voice murmured, the noise snapping Quentin’s attention downward.

“David, h-hey,” he hastily spoke as his orbs latched onto a pair of bloodshot hazel-greens. “Are you okay?”

The scrapper blearily eyed the sky before his eyeballs rolled ever so slowly in his direction, and Quentin recoiled at the hand feeling for his. Recovering from the senseless scare, he entangled his fingers into David’s and gripped tightly as blood squished between the gaps of each digit.

“Quen…”

“W-Wait no,” he worriedly stuttered out when David shut his eyes, “David don—”

“Hey, hey,” Bill calmly interjected, a hand extending forward to pat Quentin on the shoulder, “don’t get your panties in a twist. He’ll be fine.”

Quentin exhaled a shaky breath before willing his anxiety away; he was panicking when there was no pressing reason to. David was going to be fine because he always was, and that optimistic rationality was what kept his sanity from decaying. “I-I know.”

“Oh, here,” the elder said while digging through his pockets to produce a metallic chain. “Consider this a peace offering for, umm, givin’ you the cold shoulder.”

“Your chain?”

“That flimsy cord of yours’ll eventually have more knots than your hair,” Bill humorously, yet truthfully, commented. “This’ll hold better.”

“But what ‘bout your dog tags?”

It was a thoughtful gesture, and Quentin was not entirely reluctant to accept it, but was it not significant to the older male? Well, perhaps the chain was not as significant as the actual tags themselves. Either way, the chain may be sturdier but it was still breakable. Although, his pendants required some kind of chain since, without one, he was positive that he would lose them somewhere. Was it really such a chore to accept an upgrade to his crappy leather cord?

“There just as safe sittin’ in my pocket.”

Besides, it was meant as a generous peace offering and only an asshole refused such a gift. Giving the veteran a grateful smile, Quentin held out his hand to receive the chain. “Thanks Bill,” he uttered as he transferred his cross and medallion onto the metal chain. “You sure you never had grandkids?”

The elder glowered at his teasing remark and grumbled out, “Don’t star—”

“Meg?”

The name had Quentin cranking his neck to the side where he gasped at the sight of Meg entering the campground while lugging a large hiking backpack on her shoulders. She had come back?

“Just dropping off some shit I found in the woods,” the runner breathlessly explained as she deposited the green, camo-coloured backpack on the ground nearby. “Thought you guys could make use of it.”

Feng dumbfoundedly eyed her and practically spat, “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah, I can’t carry everything I find back here,” Meg said, the runner clearly misinterpreting the outburst—or perhaps skillfully dodging it—while she retreated from the vicinity.

“You’re not staying?” Claudette questioned, her hopeful expression dissolving with every wordless step Meg took towards the treeline.

“Wait a second!” Nea hollered out, the tag artist catching up to her fleeing girlfriend and grabbing her forearm. “You can’t just g—”

“Hey!” Meg exclaimed, baby blue eyes glimmering with a dangerous fire as she thrashed in the tag artist’s grip. “Let go!”

“Ladies, ladies!” Ace shouted while clapping his palms together twice. “Let’s all pause for a second and talk this out, hmm?”

The runner released a frustrated growl at her inability to escape and said, “There’s nothing to talk ab—”

“Bullshit there isn’t!” Feng yelled in exasperation, orbs appearing to faintly glisten in the light of the blazing flames.

“M’not letting you go until you listen to what I have to say!” Nea firmly stated, her fierce stance mirroring the one she utilized frequently during her trials.

“Babe, please,” Meg gently pleaded with the tag artist, “can we do this—”

Nea abruptly slapped the runner, the surely burning blow echoing throughout the area, and then all but roared, “Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me!”

“Ow… fuck,” Meg voiced while nursing her reddened cheek. “What the hell’s your pr—”

“Are you _seriously_ asking her that question—”

“Feng, please, stay outta this,” Nea curtly requested without her gaze leaving Meg, “and my _problem_ is you. You wandering around the forest, never coming back or checking in or talking to us during tr—”

“I’m _trying_ to find a way outta this hellhole,” the runner asserted, “unlike most of you.”

“And that means ignoring us?” the tag artist hotly questioned. “Making us worry—”

“I _never_ asked you to! Now lemme g—”

“I’m not done! I know you wanna leave—”

“ _You don’t understand!_ ”

Quentin wanted to point out that Meg was doing what he had done in the past: reject help. God, how many of them were resistant to help from their fellow survivors? He was starting to see how annoying stubbornness was to deal with. Though, in reality, the runner _was_ right in the fact that most of them had not been actively looking for a way to escape this place. Perhaps it was high time that changed.

“I know you’re anxious to see your mother again,” Nea said, her tone barely audible and sympathetic, “but are you really _that_ desperate to leave without the rest of us? _Without me?!_ ”

Meg finally yanked her wrist free, the runner glaring wildly at her girlfriend as she thrusted a rigid finger in his general direction. “Quentin and Laurie don’t even wanna leave for fuck’s sake!”

“This isn’t about _them_ ,” the tag artist emphasized with a stamp of her foot, “and it’s their choice, but you—”

“YOU DON’T GET IT! I _need_ to see her!” Meg bellowed, the young woman clearly referring to her mother. “I need—”

“You don't think I wanna see my fam—”

“—to know that she’s okay, and she needs to know that I didn’t abandon her—”

“She’d _never_ think that!”

“—and that I love her even though she, sh-she—”

Meg let out a horrendous-sounding wail before bursting into tears, her trembling legs collapsing beneath her as her knees collided with the dirt below. Nea simply watched her girlfriend weep for a spell before squatting in front of Meg and enveloping the other female in her arms. Quentin noted a brief bout of resistance until the runner finally succumbed to the arms snuggly wrapped around her.

The breakdown was equal parts necessary and saddening but, hopefully, this was exactly what the two of them required: Meg needed to acknowledge her emotions, all of them, to their full extent; and Nea needed to realize that chasing after her true desires was worth the effort and potential risk. He was tempted to argue that they too were powering through their own merciless fears and what better way to do that than with loving backup.

Quentin eyed the sobbing girls with mixed feelings while his mind repeated what the runner had said earlier.

Laurie wished to stay here for the exact same reason he did. Whether they liked it or not, they told themselves that they had an obligation to shoulder the burden of their respective killers. To do otherwise was unthinkable, and to allow those killers to roam free was not an option—even if they had shown teeny moments of humanness.

He longed to leave this nightmare-fueled world, but if Freddy was allowed to… no, he had to stay. He was determined to survive in this place, live with whatever torture was thrown his way, if it meant that his home world was spared from the dream demon.

That aside, should an escape route be discovered, he was also not about to force David into remaining here with him. While their relationship was blossoming rather nicely, he did not wish for it to interfere with the freedom David deserved. The scrapper had a future beyond this place, preferably a bright one, and Quentin was not selfish enough to ask David to stay for his benefit. He had endured the hardships of survival, frequently on his own, for quite some time and he intended to maintain the trend with the utmost resolve.

“—and I’ll take that apology kiss now.”

Tuning back into the conversation, Quentin noted that both girls were now kissing passionately, the two females seemingly uncaring of their audience. Had he missed something? When the hell had they skipped straight to an enthusiastic make-out session?

Wide eyes witnessed Meg caressing the small of Nea’s clothed back before that hand dipped into the waistband of the tag artist’s pants. He caught the subtlest flash of the band of her olive-green panties before he averted his eyes to David and attempted to block out the vivid imagery his mind conjured up. They were _not_ going to engage in angry make-up sex here of all places, fuck!

Facing heating up for a second time as the catcalls and moans started to affect him, Quentin was ever so relieved to feel a familiar chill engulfing his form. Dwight and Claudette were apparently going to join him for this upcoming trial while the fourth was not currently in attendance at the campground.

“Gimme, gimme!” Feng quickly demanded as she pried his necklace from its rightful place around his neck.

“H-Hey,” he yelled indignantly, “what’re you—”

“Relax, I’m gonna hold onto this,” the gamer said as she held up his necklace in plain view, “so you don’t lose it in the trial.”

That was actually a fantastic idea assuming, of course, Feng did not misplace it or break it. Pondering it now, he idly wondered if another necklace would appear around his neck if he died during the trial. He supposed he was about to find out though avoiding death would be infinitely more swell.

“Be careful with it, please,” Quentin fearfully begged, “it-it’s sentimental. And take care of Dave—”

“Sheesh, have a little faith in us why doncha?”

He chuckled some and offered the gamer an apology, and then gave Claudette and Dwight a determined smile, their bodies gradually disappearing into the fog.

“And don’t fall asleep,” Bill, Ace, and Feng spoke in unison, their tones ranging in volume and worry.

Quentin nodded confidently at each of the three and promised, “I won’t.”


	39. Doubt Which Lingers In The Shadows

David had come to accept the strangeness of surviving in the Entity’s world, but nothing topped what he was witnessing now. The darkened city block ran parallel with a long stretch of accompanying road while the dimly lit silhouette of a familiar building stood proudly in the background. There was no denying the rich architecture of the town hall, its historic features matching his old memories of the place harmoniously—even after all this time. He was back in Manchester; he was home.

Had the Entity finally allowed them their freedom? If so, then where were the others?

“Oi, Quentin!” David hollered into the seemingly empty street, “Dwight! Nea! ANYONE!”

No reply whatsoever: no voices aside from his own disturbing the still air; no tires scraping over the blacktop in passing; no alley cat scrounging in a dumpster for its next meal. No nothing. The street, and its surrounding businesses, were completely devout of life, the eerie quiet making him uncomfortable. Silence had a peculiar way of unnerving him.

Granted it was nighttime which partly explained the lack of bodies and racket but there should be a  _little_ life crawling around here. One streetlamp abruptly flickered to life above him, its light barely maintaining its glow as the darkness threatened to snuff it out. David frowned at the pulsating bulb, his teeth gradually clenching together as a sprinkle of suspicion clouded his mind. This was wrong; this was clearly the Manchester he knew and loved… so why did it seem like something else?

Clicking his teeth in annoyance to halt their painful grinding, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and proceeded to trek down the barren street. There  _had_  to be someone around, something to add to what his senses were telling him.

“This one of yer tricks Entity?” he yelled at the starless sky. When had he become such a skeptic?

As he ventured forth, David relished in what small joys were presented to him: the cool, damp air nipping at his exposed skin; the scent of refreshing rainwater waiting to descend from the sky; and the familiarity of roaming through a neighborhood without feeling disconnected from it—like with Badham Preschool or Haddonfield. It was a blessing to experience such pleasures again.

Nearing a fork in the road, a myriad of lights—definitely too vibrant to be mere streetlamps—flashed intermittently off to the left, their origin obstructed by the various structures in the vicinity. This was exactly the sign of life he had been searching for.

Breaking into a sprint, David called out to the mystery lights until he rounded the corner and the scene was revealed to him. Slowing his pace, he gawked at the mass amount of people crowding the street, majority of whom lacked the proper attire for an evening stroll. There were several peelers about too, the lads questioning a few individuals and logging all the details of a robbery from the looks of things.

Squinting at one person in particular, he internally gagged at the gaudy bathrobe—its clashing orange, yellow, and cream-coloured stripes—the older male wore. He remembered sputtering stupidly at the mere glimpse of that unsightly thing when he had first laid eyes on it. Boy did that bring back memories and, unfortunately, not the good kind.

Heartbeat quieting, David oriented his anxious gaze to the robbed business. In particular, he eyed the damaged glass still lingering in the window frame, its radial cracks surrounding a hole which resembled that of an oversized pocket watch. He soundlessly gasped in horror when his brain glued each piece of this bizarre puzzle together. This was, this was... oh no.

Whipping back to face the crowded blacktop, David shoved through a handful of bodies to clear a path to the dead body lying in their centre.

“Alex...”

Brushing off curious whispers and stern warnings, he dropped to his knees beside the lifeless lad. One touch to frigid, scratched flesh confirmed that Alex was indeed dead which had him sniffling in miserable anger. Looking upon his bloodied face slack and seemingly at peace reminded David of why selflessness, despite being wholly idiotic, was so precious. This never should have happened.

“You think you’d be used to seeing death by now.”

Stiffening in alarm, David whipped his neck to side to spot The Nightmare looming over him, the man sporting a simmering glare. The environment too had changed within a fraction of a second, the sudden switch avoiding his notice until it was staring him down. His knees were now planted on a different road, one which had a creepy, decrepit preschool ominously sitting behind rusted fences in the backdrop. Was this a trial, or was he actually asleep?

“Wha’ the ‘ell?”

“Personally,” the killer resumed with a flutter of his knifes, “I find it quite picturesque. His beautiful cries when my claws sink into his silky skin, those burning eyes glaring into mine as he gasps in pain, and the way his body shivers when I thrust my blades through his ch—”

“SHUT YER TRAP!” David roared, his restraint barely withstanding as his body trembled with rage. He went to utilize his awakened temper, pour all of its untapped power into his fists and lose control, until something in what the bastard had said caught his attention. Alex had no claw markings on his body. “H-His?”

The Nightmare plastered on a vicious smirk, the brightness of a flaming barrel highlighting the grotesque appearance of his teeth, before nodding towards Alex. Only, when David spared a brief glance downward, Alexander was gone and in his place was Quentin. His boyfriend posed in an identical position as Alex had previously while his glassy, cesious-coloured orbs stared into the nothingness of the blackened sky above.

“NO!” he screamed in dismay, arms reaching down to cradle the limp body close to his chest. “No, no, no…”

Quentin had several lacerations marring his body, the deep crimson colour of the wounds bringing tears to his orbs. The ones littering the boy’s face stood out most prominently, the straight slices craving paths through the smooth, fleshy dips and curves like an icebreaker forcing its way through a frozen ocean. Yet, somehow, those claws failed to cut into those hazy blue eyes of his. Maybe that had been intentional.

Christ, had he been hallucinating while a trial was underway? There was a time and a place for working through homesickness, but not during critical moments like this. Goddammit!

He refused to show the bastard any slivers of weakness though his resolve apparently decided to betray him. Unable to prevent a shrill sob from tumbling out of his mouth, David buried his face into the crevice of Quentin’s neck to stifle it. This was the norm in this retched world: terrible and saddening things occurred without their permission, events which he should be used to witnessing yet never desiring to. He  _loathed_  his inability to stop it.

“Shh,” Krueger cooed all too sweetly, his hand resting firmly on the scrapper’s shaky shoulder, “it’s alright David. You never had a chance of saving him.”

It was spoken so casually, so disgustingly calm too, and those words ricocheting around within his skull gradually refuelled the wavering fire in his gut.

“My Quentin is such a kind and thoughtful boy. I know his altruism places such a burden on the rest of you,” The Nightmare boldly claimed, his grip on David tightening, “a necessity to repay his kindness for saving you from the  _naughty_  killer.”

David bit into his lower lip, the tiny pinprick of pain and taste of iron further snapping him out of his anguished state, and then mumbled a heated, “Shut up.”

“But there’s nothing any of you can do to stop this. He’ll always bend to me, sacrifice himself to protect all of you.” Krueger paused to chuckle, warm breath unwantedly tickling David’s ear, and then whispered, “Such good friends you all are to him, a good _boyfriend_ … if you really cared about him—”

“Shut yer gob,” David muttered as he gently placed Quentin down on the pavement.

“—you wouldn’t let him suffer and die by my hand.”

Unleashing an enraged cry, David sprung to his feet and charged at the killer. In lieu of barreling into Krueger and knocking the bastard to the ground, he phased right through the monster and braced his palms on top of smooth hardwood. Anger outweighing his confusion, David reared around only to find a new area greeting his vision. The dreary, cracked roads surrounding the fog-obstructed preschool were replaced by the sleek interior of an upscale pub, one which he frequented for watching interesting sports on telly.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” David shakily murmured under his breath, his orbs drifting over each polished wooden table and every circular bar stool in the room. His breath hitched when his eyes landed on the male sitting at the bar top. “Quen?”

“Hmm,” the teenager in question hummed in response, his body rotating sideways on the stool to eye David with surprise, “oh, hey, you’re here. I didn’t expect to see you.”

He exhaled in relief upon discovering no slash marks or gouges on Quentin. Honestly, with the proper lighting present, David was given an excellent view of how beautiful his love truly was.

Getting nearly swept up by those gorgeous features, he distractedly addressed the other’s comment from earlier by uttering, “Uh… okay, why’s ‘at?”

Quentin awkwardly sputtered on his drink for a second, his mildly hurt expression confusing David further. “Well it’s just me here,” the teenager illustrated with a wave of his hand, “so I figured you’d be somewhere else, y’know, satisfying your thirst.”

“Huh?”

“Finding your next conquest?” the boy tried next.

“Wha’ are ya talkin’ ‘bout love? I dun—”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“Wha’? Love?” David did not ever recall a time where Quentin disliked his term of endearment.

“Yeah,” Quentin confirmed in a bitter tone, his eyes wandering to a blank telly, “that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you don’t love me,” the younger male snapped, his body turning to face the bar again. “You don’t care about me at—”

 “Wha’ kinda rubbish is ‘at? I love ya with all my ‘eart, and I’ve always cared ‘bout you!”

Quentin released a humorous scoff, the boy leisurely approaching him with his drink in hand, and then stated, “You _care_ ‘bout your needs, your urges. You chase the rush of adrenaline fighting gives you and whatever tempting piece of ass crosses your path for a good fuck. You’re a greedy bastard and you only care about _your-fucking-self!_ ”

“M’not...”

“It’s nice to have what you want in life,” Quentin blurted out, a disturbing gleam manifesting in his orbs, “isn’t it?”

“Y-Ya,” David breathed out automatically, his response complimenting his apprehension.

“And it’s even better when it doesn’t require attachment.”

“Attachment?”

“You live your life the way you want to. No regrets, no commitment and no remorse,” the teenager listed off while standing almost chest-to-chest with David. “The luxuries available now are fewer than before, but your standards haven’t changed.”

“I dunno wha’ you’re talkin’ about.”

“You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You have a willing, tight hole to fuck whenever you want,” the boy elaborated as he teasingly grinded his pelvis into David, “and plenty of entertaining opponents to beat the living crap out of. You, my  _love_ ,” Quentin drawled, his sweet tone not matching his maniacal smile, “have exactly what you want.”

David sneered at that, arms raising to shove his boyfriend away from him. No, this person was not his boyfriend; this was not the young man he cherished and fought for. This was _not_ Quentin.

“Well maybe not everything,” Quentin amended, the teen lifting his glass to his moistened lips and taking a generous gulp of the dark liquid for emphasis. The rank stench wafting from the mug was obviously metallic and, given its distinctive red colouring, David came to the nauseating conclusion that the liquid was blood. Christ!

After downing two-thirds of the glass, the boy gave him a sympathetic smirk and asked, “Want one? I know you’d enjoy a stiff drink.”

“Wha’ I  _want_ is for this charade ta end Krueger.” There was no persisting doubt in his mind which dissuaded him from believing that this was a dream. It had to be a dream, just a bad dream.

“Ah, so m’not offering you your preferred poison.”

“Fuck yer p—” David abruptly froze at the sight of blood beginning to stream from Quentin’s nose and mouth. Additionally, several bruises started to bloom across the rise of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw, and the dips of his eye sockets. This savage brutality, it was… it was his doing from so long ago and observing it now left him with nothing but utter regret. He was stunned that he had even recollected his own handiwork in the first place.

“What’s the matter David?” Quentin questioned with a bloody smile, head tilting to the side in an innocent manner. “I thought you wanted your adrenaline fix. I won’t fight back.”

“Sick bastard,” he seethed at the male before him. “You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”

“C’mon,” the battered boy beckoned with a crook of his finger, “I know you enjoy _pounding_ me into the ground.”

Fingers wove into the roots of his hair and harshly tugged in an attempt to drown out the multitude of emotions banging around in his noggin. He had to tune out this rubbish and put an end to this mind game right now!

David grabbed an empty pint glass from a nearby table and hurled it at Quentin with an aggressive shout. He watched the tall glass sail through the air towards its target only for his surroundings to alter again in the blink of an eye.

His weapon of choice shattered against a tree which partially concealed a staircase leading to an upper floor. A brief survey of the latest area had David screaming in frustration. Goodbye nostalgic pub from Manchester, and hello forest lodge. The antler chandelier swayed slightly overhead while the lit candles within the cobblestone fireplace burned brightly in comparison to their fellow wax brothers littering the stairs. As thrilling as it was to admire the mundane scenery, David was beyond livid with his predicament. Was Krueger this much of a fucking coward? Yes, his mind echoed tiredly.

“Oi! Where the bloody ‘ell are—Gah!”

He screamed in pain from a hatchet swiftly plunging into his left shoulder, the blow causing him to stagger backwards a touch. Looking up, David witnessed The Huntress, giant axe at the ready, trudging towards the lodge. Yanking the weapon free with a grunt, he vengefully threw the hatchet back at the killer but, to his vexation, the woman easily caught it before the blade could pierce into her white, rabbit-shaped mask. Was this how the bastard intended to fight him? By posing as another, more physically capable killer?

Standing his ground and ensuring The Huntress was not going to throw anymore hatchets, David patiently waited for her to swing her mighty axe at him. Timing his reaction just right, he seized two different sections of the handle in both hands and repelled the burly woman back.

“Heh. I gotcha now—oh fuck!”

Fortifying his stance, he gritted his teeth in annoyance when The Huntress pushed back with an unearthly strength. The force she was exerting on the axe outmatched his own, the sharp edge gradually lowering closer and closer to the swell of his cheek. Scrubbing the hesitation and meager pain from his thoughts, David shoved back against the killer as they each fought to overpower one another.

“Having fun?” The Nightmare asked, the killer hovering in his peripheral vision.

“Wha’re ya doin’ over there?! Sonofa—fuck off y’rabbit cunt!” David was ever so sick of the limitless mental fuckery going on.

“A one-on-one, no rules fight. It reminds me of some of my rowdier children roughhousing on the playground. Ah… those were the days,” Kruger voiced with fondness, his miscoloured eyes appearing lost in thought.

Growling to garner the bastard’s attention, he nodded at The Huntress and exclaimed, “She ‘as a, ah fuck, a weapon! ‘ow’s ‘at fair?!”

“True,” The Nightmare agreed, “but your fists are weapons in their own way.”

“N-Not the same,” David huffed out, his strength starting to wane, “not the fuckin’ same.”

“Oh,” Krueger mumbled with mock disappointment, “isn’t this what you wanted? Why’re kids so difficult to please?”

“ _Fight me!_ ”

“I’m deeply flattered for the invitation,” The Nightmare humbly replied with an accompanying bow, “but I’d much rather watch the show.”

“Why ya—”

He yelped in surprise when The Huntress managed to sneak a foot between his guard and kick him backwards, the successful hit dislodging his hands from her weapon handle. Immediately seeking out the female killer again, David moved his head to the side to just barely avoid an axe imbedding between his eyes. Thankfully, with the blade now stuck in the floorboards, he had the perfect opportunity to scramble to his feet and launch a counterattack.

Winding back a tight fist, David prepared to lamp the woman except The Huntress was no longer standing before him. Her oversized weapon, the breezy lodge, and the disgusting wanker too had vanished from existence. What kind of rubbish dream was this?

Every which way he currently looked yielded endless darkness, its icy shroud equivalent to the obstructing fog which regularly whisked them away for trials. And yet, somehow, he was able to clearly make out a reflective surface a mere four feet from his nose. Why was he seeing himself, and where the hell did Krueger bugger off to this time?

“KRUEGER!” he impatiently roared into the void. “Quit skulkin’ around in the shadows and fight me! _Fight. Me!_ ”

Unsurprisingly, the bastard did not emerge from his hiding place nor answer his calls. What did the sneaky fuck desire from him anyways? To suffer, his mind supplied logically as it scolded him for his recklessness. While taunting the killer may not be wise, his poor mood demanded some sort of balance which only fearlessness could correct.

Groaning tiredly when Krueger continued to ignore him, David refocused on the image staring back at him. Taking advantage of the calm while it lasted, he decided to inspect his shoulder injury. Given his rough removal of the hatchet, the outlines of the gash were jagged and sickly looking though, at the very least, the wound was not oozing fluid anymore. A quick pat of his pockets revealed no gauze or bandages to cover the gash which was disappointing but not enough to bother him. He had survived far worse injuries without treatment countless times before.

Staring at his reflection for a second time, his orbs widened when his image suddenly winked at him—a gesture which he did not put forth.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” he exclaimed in shock, his arms shielding his torso in defence.

His mirror image snickered at his reaction and uttered a soothing, “Easy mate.”

“Who’re ya?”

His reflection cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him before saying, “Didn’t think you’d need ta ask.”

“Yer _not_ me,” David firmly argued, “yer—wha’re ya smirkin’ at?”

“Innit obvious?” his mirror image spoke without disguising the mockery in its tone of voice. “M’smirkin’ at the pathetic knob in front of me.”

David scowled at the remark but mentally refrained from unleashing his temper. Odds were if he tried to attack that a new annoyance would appear to pester him. This was absolute madness, a form of unique torture to which he had no knowledge of combating. He had to wake up before he fully lost his mind.

“You’ve gone soft,” his reflection keenly observed, its hazel-green orbs racking over his form briefly. “Damn shame ‘at is.”

“I _‘aven’t_ gone soft y’bloody poser!”

“Are ya sure ‘bout ‘at?” the other inquired, its infuriating toothy grin ever present. “We’re the strongest of the survivors yet you’re always holdin’ back.”

“Self-restraint _is_ strength,” David emphasized, a statement which he was proud to abide by when he was capable, “and its great for ignorin’ arses like you.”

“Think you can shut me out?” his reflection said. “Dunno ‘ow y—”

“Well, wha’ever ya are, fuck—”

“‘ow ‘bout ya tell me ‘ow it feels ta be weak?”

“Feels fuckin’ grand, thanks for askin’,” he quipped while flipping his middle finger at his reflection. “Now lemme the ‘ell outta ‘ere Krueger!”

“Desperate ta leave already? Ah, right, ‘course ya are. Quen’s probably missin’ yer company.” At his testy snarl, his mirror image resumed with, “Not gonna lie, the lil’ brat’s a great shag. And ‘at mouth of his... but ‘is baggage’s not worth it for the long ‘aul.”

Irked by such a crass statement, David vigorously shouted, “‘Course it is! Ya ‘ave no idea wha’ you’re on ‘bout.”

Such words though were sadly not foreign to his ears. Back home, he unashamedly spewed degrading comments on a regular basis. It was in his nature to act like an arsehole and, despite his best efforts, there was no erasing that quality. However, hearing himself reiterating similar insults was rather excruciating to listen to. Frankly he never before noticed how completely repugnant he sounded to everyone else.

“Y’know it’s the truth mate. They’re all baggage really: always needin’ ta be saved and protected, can’t do anythin’ for themselves.”

David jabbed a thumb at his puffed-out chest and asserted, “I protect my mates.”

“They’re anchors,” his reflection patiently explained. “They’re weighing ya down, forcin’ ya ta be someone you’re not. And y’cant let ‘em.”

“They’re not—”

“Y’cant let ‘em leech off ya,” the other snapped spitefully, its orbs adopting a murderous glare. “It’ll only ‘urt more.”

“No, ‘at’s not—”

“Ya can’t deny the stingin’ truth anym—”

“ _It ‘urts more bein’ alone!_ ” David abruptly screeched, his cheeks burning in shame at outwardly revealing such a sensitive fact.

His reflection hmphed incredulously, its head lazily shaking from side-to-side likely with the aim to antagonize him. It was akin to watching his father neglect him as a child while David wordlessly drowned in his self-induced disappointment and guilt. His poor relationship with his father had not been because of any wrongdoing on his part, but his younger counterpart never comprehended the situation otherwise.

“You were neva mithered about bein’ alone,” the other claimed after a tense minute of quiet. “You ‘ung out with friends when ya felt like it and ‘en buggered off ta do yer own thing.”

“Maybe I wasn’t interested in—”

“Doncha remember ‘ow great it used ta be?” his reflection rudely interjected. “‘ow amazin’ it felt ta do wha’ever ya wanted?”

His mirror image quickly altered to display a version of him from his distance past, its appearance resembling his former self from his days of smashing head in for business. He former self looked so confident, exhilarated even, as he cracked his bloodied knuckles with a wide grin. He vividly recalled how it used to be: the thrill of putting prats and cocky arses in their place while an addictive surge of heat raced through his veins. It was a sensation too splendidly impossible to forget.

“The debt collectin’, the underground scraps,” his reflection uttered, its appearance changing accordingly to reflect an image of him eagerly waiting for a pleasurable, blood pumping scrap. “Don’ let ‘em take those memories from ya.”

David numbly stared at his reflection as older memories surfaced, the fondness associated with them giving him ample pause. He did yearn to relive his greatest memories again, to disregard all nuisances and stress in order to preserve his fractured sanity.

“C’mon mate,” his mirror image lowly implored, its hand-wrapped palms resting against the barrier separating them, “just let go. Stop strugglin’ for their sake and start livin’ in the moment. It’s wha’ ya _really_ want, wha’ll make ya ‘appy again.”

Happy? David stared long and hard at his reflection, one hand unconsciously extending to touch the reflective barrier. Why was he trying so hard for their sake anyway? Sure his friends were grateful and returned the favor whenever possible, but saving their arses all the time was exhausting. When had he been able to truly let loose—punch a tree for the hell of it or chase after a killer just to be an arse—without getting yelled at or scolded for it?

His finger paused once it was a millimetre away from the barrier, the suspended digit faintly trembling in the air. His pain could be eradicated, his protective nature abandoned to alleviate his distress, so why did his chest cruelly ache?

“David,” his mirror image softly spoke, “it’s time ta let go.”

To hell with that rubbish! Curling his finger back, David offered his reflection a wicked smile and then savoured the look of betrayal given to him in response.

“I don’ think so _mate_ ,” he spat with great pleasure. “It’s time for you ta disappear.”

David speedily delivered a punch to the barrier, the abnormally thick material cracking under his knuckles but not shattering. His reflection positively fumed for a split-second and then, perhaps in retaliation or in unbridled fury, released a prolonged, skull-rattling screech. It was an inhuman, almost demonic, sounding scream which had David collapsing to his knees and fruitlessly shielding his ears from the piercing noise. He howled in sheer agony from the auditory assault, a wet and sticky sensation soon seeping out from the gaps between his fingers. Make it stop, his mind desperately pleaded, make this fucking madness stop!

Bolting upright with a strangled gasp, he breathlessly panted as awareness set back in, his body thoroughly drenched in sweat and bandages. Why was he covered in bandages? What happened? Had it… was his nightmare _real_ real?

Peeling away the soaked bindings, David noted with relief the absence of any visible scratches or bruises adorning his torso and arms. His shoulder too was missing the medium-sized gash from The Huntress’s infernal hatchet. So it had been a dream, a normal demon-free nightmare actually, and boy had it been an absolute doozy.

Recalling the last moments of his nightmare, he curiously eyed the few individuals—namely Ace, Bill, Feng, and Laurie—currently sitting across the campfire and idly wondered where Quentin was though he suspected that his love was off surviving in a trial. If he had indeed been injured, then the teenager would be here guarding over his sleeping form in that sweet way his boyfriend tended to do.

Glancing at his fellow mates fondly, David knew he had made the correct decision. He was not only a fighter but also a protector, and he planned on protecting what was precious to him at all costs. Besides, why live an easy life when the hard road was infinitely more fun? Although, even as he told himself this, his dreadful dream refused to fade away.

“Oi, guys,” he bellowed at the four individuals across the way while masking the tremor in his voice, “anyone wanna explain why I’m wrapped up like a pig ‘n a blanket?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Freddy truly haunting David or was the killer’s presence merely a fabrication of his nightmare? You be the judge.


	40. Remember Me | Part I

Fuck this miserably predictably, horrible life! It was the first, arguably rational, thought to enter his mind the moment the blinding fog dissolved. Ashen leaves further clouding his hazy surroundings had him mentally cursing whatever gods existed in the universe. In spite of his bitterness, Quentin unconsciously sought out the comfort of his cross and medallion, the feeling of their soothing coolness seeping into his palm, only to find nothing for him to grasp. His cherished possessions were, quite possibly, worlds away and, with them, his sense of inner peace.

Quentin gawked at the foggy, forested area with disdain, the tedious scenery providing a permanent reminder of his imprisonment in an endless cycle of torture and despair. Excluding that one trial with The Trapper, which had been a trial amongst friends rather than the normal gorefest, all of his recent trials have included Freddy. Initially he blamed those predicaments on his poor luck but now Quentin undoubtably knew the Entity was pitting him and the dream demon against each other on purpose.

Filled with uncharacteristic fury, he threw his head to the sky and violently roared, “YOU BITCH!”

Was it impossible for their captor to express a sliver of empathy? The answer was painfully obvious yet he still believed the Entity to be more than some insatiable masochist. Complaining to the sky, however, was not going to make this trial end any sooner.

Balling his quivering hands into fists, Quentin waited for Freddy to locate him. If their captor wished to see him confront his worst nemesis, then so be it. And while his fear of the unknown gnawed at his insides, he willfully denied the feeling from consuming his resolve. He may suffer and die, as the endless cycle here all but demanded, but he would not permit such grievances to break him.

As the eerie lullaby gradually filtered into his ears, he let out a startled squeak when something abruptly snagged his arm and dragged him behind a cluster of boulders. Quentin had a mere second to observe Jake hastily setting a large toolbox aside before his friend was snapping and clapping in his face. Quite frankly he was surprised that the little jump-scare did not rouse him.

Surroundings now devoid of ashen leaves and abundant fog, he went to speak only for a firm palm to slap over his mouth. The sound of singing children was too close, the cheery tune literally resonating from the opposite side of their hiding place. His objective had been to entertain the dream demon for his teammates, as was often necessary, but clearly Jake did not share in his plan.

When all grew quiet save for a random bird cawing in the distance, the palm blocking his mouth disappeared and Quentin muttered, “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Your necklace?” Jake inquired, his dark orbs briefly scanning for the whereabouts of the item.

“Huh? Oh, erm,” he stammered out, his thought processes slightly taken aback by such a straightforward question, “Feng took it from me before the trial.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Only just noticing the feathery creature perched on the saboteur’s shoulder, Quentin opted to mention, “Y’know there’s a bird on your shoulder, right?”

“Yes.”

He was leery of having something akin to a miniature homing beacon this close but Jake seemed at ease with its presence. Clearly the saboteur missed his calling as an ornithologist or some kind of badass bird tamer. Either way, the black winged creature remained blessedly silent, its beady eyes gawking at its surroundings with the occasional head tilt. Hard to imagine that such a thing used to barely fill up the palm of his hand.

Becoming antsy, Quentin peered out from behind their hiding place to eye the seemingly desolate area. Freddy was out there somewhere and every second spent waiting here was an opportunity to learn. His eyes absorbed the current playing field while various strategies formed in his mind: which areas were best to run the killer around; which areas to avoid at all costs; which debris was tall enough to crouch behind or too wide to curve around. He beamed at the number of available pallets littering the field and fantasised about how wonderful it would be to slam each and every one of them down on the killer. Although, if Freddy were to maintain a calm demeanor and outsmart him, he may need to utilize different tactics.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” the stern, subtle warning broke Quentin from his contemplation, “whatever you’re planning on doing, _don’t_.”

Huffing in displeasure, he answered the other male with a flippant, “Are you some kind of mind reader now?”

“So you’re not thinking of doing something foolish to protect us?”

“I, uh… well someone eventually has to distract Freddy,” Quentin carefully explained, his eyes avoiding the disapproving look cast his way, “and he’ll be coming after me first—”

“Not necessarily,” Jake interjected, the other male then offering a general nod to the right. “Work on the generator in the shack. It’s the safest place to loop the killer and the basement isn’t there.”

“Why me? You’re the one with the toolb—whoa, hey,” Quentin protested when said toolbox was promptly pushed into his chest, “what’re you doing?”

“Repair the generator,” the survivalist reiterated, the man boring into him with an icy, non-negotiable stare before noisily sprinting into the debris-riddled field.

Quentin watched his friend warily for several seconds before eyeing the toolbox in his hands grumpily. When did Jake suddenly become so outgoing? And why was he always being treated like a helpless child? ‘Cause they care about you idiot, his brain instantaneously remarked, its imparted words of wisdom doing little to aid the nauseating knot coiling in his belly.

His procrastination was what was going to screw over his teammates now. Letting out one last aggravated puff of oxygen, Quentin quietly entered the shabby shack and proceeded to repair the stupid generator. What was the greater torture here: dealing with his worst nightmare or constantly having to fix the same machines over and over again? Both tasks were equally boring and caused him some sort of harm—physical and mental. Maybe that was why the other survivors before them were absent: they had expired from boredom.

Jake screaming from the opposite end of the realm had him biting his lip in frustration as the knot in his gut gave a sharp twist. This trial was beginning to resemble his previous one with the dream demon: his teammates dropping like flies, one after the other until Freddy decided to search for him.

The survivalist was much too far away to rescue without squandering valuable time, and surely Claudette or Dwight… oh no. Quentin had completely forgotten that Dwight was trapped within the trial with Freddy too.

“Shit!” he exclaimed when the machine blew up in his face.

Dammit he had a job to do; he had to finish fixing this generator. The repercussions of not doing so were unfathomable though his growing worry threatened to regress all of his hard-earned progress. Why did he always seem to struggle with his conscience in situations like this? Was it normal or was he allowing his worries to dictate his actions? At times like this, he truly missed the mind calming effects of his medication.

He whooped for joy when the blasted machine was finally completed. Despite the sound of the fully-powered generator assaulting his eardrums, Quentin caught the faintest of crunching noises, like shoes scraping against soft dirt, just outside. Exiting the lit shack, he witnessed an injured Claudette zigzagging through the field like a pinball aimlessly flying around a track. Given the telltale lullaby ringing throughout the air, it was clear that the botanist was fleeing from Freddy. Did the dream demon chase her over her or had the botanist lured the killer to this side on purpose? There were only two generators repaired thus far so—

Hearing Claudette cry out in pain, Quentin blindly rushed to her aid despite the drowsiness slowly creeping into his system. To his confusion, the botanist was hoisted into a standing position, her wrists pinned against the small of her back while she wrestled with her invisible attacker. Normally Freddy flickered in and out of existence though, on occasions such as these apparently, the man did not appear right away.

“Ah, n-no don’t… don’t t-touch,” Quentin heard Claudette whine as he approached, her legs kicking up a storm while liquid streamed down her cheeks. “L-Lemme go!”

Only when his world shifted entirely did Quentin comprehend why the botanist was so frightened. Freddy had his gloveless hand dipping between an opening in her shirt and seemed to be roughly massaging her right breast.

Eyes widening in outrage and disgust, Quentin savagely barked, “DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Springing forth, Quentin attempted to free Claudette but the dream demon—clearly seeing the incoming threat—knocked him on his ass with a powerful kick. Fuck! He did not expect Freddy to be capable of attacking him while holding the botanist hostage.

“Now don’t be jealous angelfish. The other children deserve some attention too. Unless…” The grinning killer paused to rip the botanist’s fitted shirt wide open, the gleam in his miscoloured orbs intensifying in the wake of her pitiful sobs. “You’d be willing to make a generous trade.”

Quentin clenched his fists at his side to prevent them from shaking, his eyes remaining solely fixated on Freddy as he aggressively seethed, “What d’you want?”

“Your necklace,” the dream demon harshly stated. “Give it to me.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Huh… is that so?” Freddy casually commented, his pensive frown looking far too threatening. The burned hand currently groping underneath Claudette’s white, embossed bra cup descended lower until it rested over the space between her legs.

“P-Please st—”

“Don’t you d—”

“You know I hate secrets between us,” the killer said, his hand rubbing teasing circles over her clothed mound and causing Claudette to release a choked squeak. “Now, give me your necklace.”

“I already told you I don’t have it you sick sonofabitch!” Quentin exclaimed, his sheer hatred for the dream demon reflecting in his burning, watery glare. “No one here does! I handed it off to someone else _not_ in the trial!”

“Heh. Either you really don’t have it,” Freddy remarked with a sickening smirk, his hand deftly unbuttoning her pants and easing the zipper down, “or you’re actually enjoying this game.”

“I SAID DON’T TOUCH HER!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the dream demon tutted when Quentin tried to intervene, his hands speedily switching positions. Now, much to his horror, Freddy had his accursed blades snaking into her pants.

“You _will_ give me what I want now,” Freddy punctuated with a leisurely slice to the elastic band of her white panties, “or after I eviscerate this cherry blossom.”

“Qu-Quen,” Claudette softly pleaded, her frightened expression and strangled whimpers breaking his heart, “p-p-please… run.”

She absolutely did not say what he thought she just said. How could she possibly ask him to leave her like th—

“GAH!”

Quentin barely caught a glimpse of a wooden plank slamming into the back of Freddy’s skull, the impact causing the flimsy material to break but, thankfully, forcing the killer to release Claudette.

“Get Claud outta here,” Dwight, their mystery saviour, hastily implored with a wave of his hand, “and grab Jake.”

Quentin raced forward to collect the fallen botanist in his arms while Freddy whirled around to face the sleeping Dwight. Claudette trembled in his hold, her hands shakily fixing her pants and then desperately fisting into the fabric of his shirt. Remembering her state of undress, he quickly shed his vest and gently coaxed her into placing her arms into the sleeves.

Given his experience with molestation, he was torn between wanting to comfort his friend and not wanting to touch her at all. Claudette seemed merely shaken up at the moment and Quentin hoped this did not affect her too greatly later on. His achy heart, however, believed otherwise.

He internally cursed and berated himself for hesitating the way he had done. Honestly, if Dwight had not shown up, he shuddered to imagine what would have happened. What kind of a person allowed their friend to essentially to be raped right in front of them?

“So you finally grew a backbone,” Freddy regarded Dwight with subtle shock and, oddly enough, an approving nod.

“M’not afraid of you,” their leader claimed, his posture straightening to display an imposing figure not easily subdued.

Freddy chuckled, as Quentin knew the monster would, and lazily fluttered his blades in the air. “You should b—”

“You’re afraid of us,” Dwight interrupted, his lips twitching into a nervous smile.

Were his ears deceiving him? After everything Freddy had done to Dwight, Quentin had not anticipated any sort of rescue from their leader. Now the guy was practically asking for the dream demon to slice him into tiny strips of flesh to be hung out to dry on a tanning rack. Was this man, with a murderous fire blazing in his orbs, truly _the_ Dwight Fairfield?

“Even when you torture us and kill us,” the leader resumed without a tremor or a stutter present in his voice, “we’ll always come back. We’re stronger together, stronger than you’ll ever be, and we’ll _never_ fear the likes of you again. _I’ll never fear you again!_ ”

Following up on such bold statements, Dwight offered Freddy an almost crazed stare and then flipped his middle finger at the killer. The dream demon did not take kindly to being undermined and insulted so brazenly and, hence, Freddy menacingly stalked after the fleeing leader.

Dwight was the new David this trial: ballsy and foolhardy. While not an ideal combination, Quentin was happy to see their leader so vibrant and full of vigor in the face of danger.

Moderately trusting Dwight to handle looping Freddy for a spell, he cast a saddened glance at the woman in his arms. “C’mon Claud,” Quentin gently cooed, “we need to go and—Jake!” How could he forget about Jake? What was _wrong_ with him?

Ushering the botanist to her feet, he offered her his hand to take which she hesitantly did. Keeping his grip light, Quentin tugged her along as the hurried across the vast expanse of the realm.

“Right,” Claudette whispered, her hand gripping his tighter, “he’s to the right.” How did she… never mind.

Veering right, the pair sprinted past brick walls and a second, overly large pile of lumber until Quentin spotted Jake dangling in the farthest corner. Much to his dismay, the saboteur was already repelling thick, ravenous tendrils from piercing into his body. With Freddy targeting Claudette, why had Dwight left Jake to hang? His worry for his girlfriend perhaps, his brain supplied though he disliked the thought of such a possibility.

“Alright, c’mon,” Quentin puffed out as he lifted the struggling survivalist off of the rusted hook. “I’m so sorry. We should’ve been here soon—”

“It’s fine,” Jake curtly replied, the man immediately snapping his fingers and clapping his hands in front of Quentin’s face. “Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I’m fine,” he assured as his palms waved from side-to-side at the saboteur, “but Claud needs…”

The survivalist eyed Claudette curiously, his obsidian orbs scanning her form with a mild frown before respectfully turning away to utter, “Only two generators have been repaired. We need to finish off the remaining few.”

“I know, but Dwight’s alone with Freddy on the other side of the map.”

“Then we have time to do what needs to be done.”

“You don’t understand! Freddy’s behaving differently this time around. He’s convinced that I’m lying ‘bout my necklace not being in the trial and—”

“Quen, please,” the botanist spoke as she walked into his field of vision, “I know that going up against The Nightmare is hard for you, that’ll probably always be hard for you, but we’ll be worse off if we’re trapped in here with him. I don’t want that for any of us, so please.”

His guilt for failing to protect her from Freddy was going to swallow him whole like a gluttonous snake gulping down a tasty field mouse. Her dispirited tone of voice, with hair positioned to conceal her facial features and reclusive body language, had him mumbling out a regretful, “Claud…”

Jake gave her a nod in agreement and then said, “Claudette and I still need to wake ourselves up and heal. While were doing that—”

“I’ll work on another generator.” No hesitation or procrastination this time.

Letting out an extended breath to calm his anxiety, Quentin retraced his previous steps to an inactive machine surrounded by boulders and trees. His fretful behaviour and trepidation were _not_ going to be the death of his teammates. He had to repay their patience and efforts with every ounce of focus and determination he could muster up.

A little over a minute later and the generator rumbled to life, its intense light bringing a small smile to his face. Leaving the area, he instantly went in search for another machine only to change course when he heard gears and pistons grinding together somewhere nearby.

Whilst following the noises, Quentin stumbled across a chest above the underground entrance to the mine and quickly looted it. His scrounging turned up a medical pack which was mediocre at best, but at least it had enough supplies for _some_ use. And why was he constantly finding med-kits in these boxes? Ace always found the best stuff but the gambler had serious horseshoes up his ass.

Spying out the noisy machine tucked behind a bulbous boulder, he narrowly missed tripping over the botanist squatting in front of it. Similar to his ability to find medical kits, Claudette had the innate ability to blend into the environment. Guaranteed, one of these times, she was going to inadvertently scare him into a premature death.

“Quentin?” Claudette murmured in a timid voice, her shoulders hunching inward as her coffee-coloured orbs eyed him apprehensively.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he expressed in a hushed tone while joining her to complete the generator, “it’s just me. Where’s Jake?”

“He went to the other side of the map,” she divulged, her jittery fingers reaching inside the machine once more. “He didn’t want our last few gens to be in one area.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Quentin commented, his eyes shifting between the wiring and Claudette. “Are you… god, Claud, I-I never wanted you to go through th—”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“And you wanted me to run? You wanted me to leave you with _him?!_ Why would you—”

“Because you’ve been through enough with that man!” she abruptly exclaimed, her outburst causing Quentin to physically flinch in surprise. “We’ve all been through so much, but you especially. And I didn’t want… I-I just… can we please just finish this gen?”

“Y-Yeah, sure, but uh… look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. M’sorry,” he genuinely conveyed, “and umm, I’m always here if you need to talk. Okay?” ‘Please do not hate me’ was the phrase he wished to utter but never did.

Claudette wordlessly nodded, her expression appearing grateful though it lacked its usual intensity. Quentin felt absolutely sick to his stomach. A prolonged scream ripping through the air startled the botanist, her fingers slipping for but a moment and triggering a generator explosion. So much for a seamless repair.

“M’gonna go,” Claudette hastily spoke, the young woman already springing to her feet.

“But—”

“The killer’s going to be here soon.”

“We don’t know that,” he argued, his hand capturing her wrist before she could flee. “Freddy might not—”

“No, please,” she begged, her free hand weakly attempting to pry at his, “let me go!”

Quentin understood why she was so adamant on leaving: she wanted to minimize her exposure to Freddy at all costs. He begrudgingly decided to let her go as trying to stop her was either going to waste precious time or cause further injury to the poor woman.

“Hold on,” Quentin uttered in remembrance and then offered his medical pack for her, “take my med-kit. You’ll have better use for it than I will.”

“Oh, umm, th-thank you. No wait,” she promptly voiced, her fingers digging in his vest pocket to produce a key which she laid on top of his open palm, “we’ll trade.”

She had a key? This was a valuable item to have and, while Quentin was appreciative to receive it, he felt as though the botanist should be the one holding onto it. Despite gaining ground with the generators, losing this match was still a possibility. Should that happen, he did not want Claudette, or any of the others, being left alone and at the mercy of Freddy.

“Maybe you should hold onto…” he weakly pestered off when he realized that he was speaking to himself. Sighing deeply at her stealthy departure, he mentally recited a short prayer and murmured, “Please be safe Claud.”

Repairing their fourth generator to completion, Quentin observed from afar a transparent body being hauled into the darkened sky. Whomever was hooked last—either Jake or Dwight—had died, but death was a preferable fate in comparison to agonizing torment. As such, he hoped their deceased friend had not suffered too greatly by Freddy’s hand.

In light of this tragedy, with only one machine and three survivors remaining, the hatch was now available to use. His first instinct was to rally his friends together but blindly searching for the hatch in a group was likely going to backfire; therefore, after a moment of deliberation, he elected to seek out the trapdoor.

A shrill scream, definitely feminine, from fairly close by had Quentin promptly freezing in his tracks. Freddy had hooked Claudette? But he… no, it made sense given that only one more generator separated them from escape. Plus the dream demon may decide against harming his friends without him around. The bastard did enjoy witnessing his reactions to such displays of cruelty, and forcing him to watch his friends suffer in his place was the perfect scenario.

Not seeing the hatch in his general vicinity, Quentin abandoned the area to save Claudette. Perhaps its location was near her or maybe the botanist herself had seen it appear. Regardless, he wanted to ensure that the botanist was alright and that Freddy did not touch her suggestively for a second time. Maneuvering through the central area, he eventually discovered the young woman hanging in a section almost entirely encased by brick walls.

“He’s after Jake,” she tearfully said when he heaved her off of the contraption and subsequently spared her from being impaled by insistent, otherworldly claws. “Dwight… th-that bastard was camping him. I-I couldn’t do anything, I tried, I…”

Claudette crumbled to the ground in a tiny ball beneath the hook, her hands encircling the lower half of her legs as her forehead rested on her kneecaps. Quentin hated seeing her so distraught and depressed, but time was of the essence. And the tendrils… did the botanist try to free herself or had she been hooked beforehand?

Crouching down to her level, he gave her a sympathetic look and then gently whispered, “I’m sure Dwight’ll understand. Have you seen the hatch?”

“N-No,” she responded with a shred of a sniffle in her voice. “I haven’t seen it.”

“Dam—”

The sudden, telltale sound of children chanting directly in his ear had him gasping in alarm. Why had he not heard the lullaby earlier? Claudette too looked horrified, her instincts for flight propelling her to frantically run away in a panic.

“Claudette!”

“Found you,” Freddy exclaimed with undisguised glee, bloodied blades whizzing through the air to deliver a burning slice to his back.

Yelping from the hit, Quentin attempted to vault through a nearby window to evade Freddy. Sadly the killer snatched him by the shoulder and pulled him backwards before he was able to escape. A grunt flew passed his gritted teeth when his injured back came into contact with the grass-covered ground, his shirt riding uncomfortably up his torso.

“Really Quen?” the dream demon questioned with a vicious smirk, his fedora-clad head gesturing to the brick window frame. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Fuck you—GAH!”

He wailed in agony when knifes were speedily stabbed into his left ankle, the bastard lightly twisting the metal before roughly yanking them free. Goddammit! Briefly applying pressure to the bleeding wound, Quentin went to stand but his ankle refused to support his weight and he tumbled flat onto his stomach.

Freddy was full of awful surprises this trial: his behaviour; his stealth; and his fucking ridiculous speed. Smirk widening exponentially at the sight of his struggles, the man then began sauntering away from him. Where the hell was the bastard off to now?

“Where’re you going asshole?” Quentin angrily griped while still trying to climb to his feet. “You can’t just leave me here like this!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Freddy chided with a knowing smile, his grotesque expression causing Quentin to cringe, “still so greedy for my affection.”

While he sputtered in mortification and denial, the dream demon started following the trail of blood Claudette had left behind while humming a disgustingly chipper tune. Upon noticing this, Quentin hurled insults and taunts at the killer, anything to prevent the man from leaving, yet his efforts were never acknowledged. Freddy appeared to be keen on saving him for last this trial.

A fifth ping resounded throughout the realm followed closely by a horn blaring, both sounds providing Quentin with sufficient strength to shakily ascend to his feet. Jake must have finished the final generator which meant there were three exits to choose from. He had t—

Claudette’s pained shriek echoing out from the mines had him choking back a raw sob. His desire to scream in anguish was outmatched by his relief that Freddy apparently opted not to torment her—at least he prayed this was the case. Nevertheless, silent tears rolled down his cheeks to dampen the disturbed sediment between his sneakers.

She was free now, her and Dwight; that was what mattered most.

Quentin tried to take a step forward only to collapse into a warm, solid object. Glancing upwards, expecting to see the dream demon by his side, his eyes found Jake instead. Leaning on the saboteur for a few seconds, Quentin went to thank Jake but then belatedly noted the abnormal kink in man’s neck. Whipping his head towards the mine, the sight of Freddy stalking towards them had him sporting an ugly scowl. The bastard was not about to slaughter Jake t—

A sudden tug and a shove to his shoulders forced him to fall on his hands and knees between two parallel brick walls. Scrambling onto his butt and elbows, Quentin watched as Jake dropped a pallet between the two of them and then promptly received a slash to his left bicep.

“Freddy, no!” Quentin exasperatedly exclaimed when the killer ignored him in favour of chasing after Jake. “Leave him alone!” What on earth was the saboteur thinking?

Sliding over the slanted pallet, his arm shot out to catch the wall in order to avoid another nasty fall. His ankle still smarted something fierce so he resorted to hobbling after the pair. Clearly this was the opportune moment to find the hatch or open an exit gate, but his conscience forced his wobbly limbs elsewhere. Quentin was going to accept whatever displeased and aggravated comments Jake and the others were sure to cram down his throat back at the campfire, but he was _not_ leaving without his friend by his side.

A metallic noise scrapping against his sneaker forced him to a halt, his eyes diverting to the ground to reveal a protruding square. The hatch; he had found the hatch! Should he open it right now? No, no, that was not a good idea. The trapdoor only stayed open for a short duration after a key was used. If he took too long saving Jake, then they were forced to rely on opening the gates which ate up more time. Also, both exit gates were on the same side of the map too. What a pain in the ass.

Ignoring the stinging aches radiating from his injuries, Quentin rounded the far side of the elongated building only to instantly freeze. There, lying stomach down on the ground beside two crumbling crates, was Jake and with Freddy straddling his hips.

“—a lesson in respect,” Quentin heard Freddy hiss into the saboteur’s exposed ear, the beginning of the heated statement unknown. His heart leapt into his throat when the dream demon savagely shredded the backside of Jake's cargo pants and boxers clean from his body. Oh god, not that!

“ _DON’T DO IT MR. KRUEGER!_ ” he desperately blurted out.

Head snapping upwards in utter shock, Freddy regarded him with wide eyes and lowly asked, “What did you say?”

“I… I said please don’t Mr. Krueger. Please don’t hurt my friend,” Quentin added in a meek tone of voice as he cautiously approached the pair. “I’m the one who deserves to be punished.”

The dream demon slowly stood up to greet him, the man’s feet planted on either side of Jake’s partially exposed thighs. Discreetly reaching into his back pocket and dropping the key near the saboteur, Quentin limped directly up to Freddy and gently pulled the man into a warm embrace. A shudder rippled underneath his flesh at touching the dream demon in such a tender, carefree manner. It was repulsive, like having a bucket of worms dumped onto his bare chest and feeling the slippery devils slither all over his body. Thankfully this act was temporary. He just had to maintain it long enough for Jake to crawl to the hatch—which the other male had hopefully seen in advance.

“Please Mr. Krueger,” he softly pleaded into the man’s neck, his fingers curling into unsightly sweater fabric, “punish me instead. I-I thought I could sleep better without you in my dreams, but now I realize how lonely they really are.”

“Touching,” Freddy remarked, his overly smug smile morphing into a guarded scowl, “or it would be if you weren’t lying through your teeth.”

“M’not lying. You have a habit of leaving marks,” Quentin claimed, his arms retracting to properly remove the bandages on his wrist and show off the blackened skin there, “so I’ll never forget you. I was selfish and cruel towards you when all you did was love me. I just… I just never understood it before now.”

“What ‘bout your _boyfriend?_ ” the dream demon emphasized pointedly, his blades extending to graze over his left wrist in idle fascination—though not hard enough to draw blood. “Herman says he’s quite attached to you.”

“David… isn’t you,” he finished a little lamely yet ensured his voice remained devoid of the bubbling anger he felt. “He could _never_ be you.”

Freddy did not appear any less suspicious, his miscoloured eyes wandering away from Quentin momentarily to find Jake crawling away from them. Witnessing the rapid hardening of those burned facial features, he panicked and did something positively unthinkable: he pulled Freddy, the man he despised most in life, into a heated kiss.

It was a split-second decision, a foolish one born out of pure desperation, but his brain reacted to the situation automatically. There was no alternative method of distraction powerful enough to give Freddy pause.

Gradually retracting his lips and holding back his nausea, Quentin breathed out a soft, “I really missed you.”

Distrustful glare not wavering, the dream demon emitted a short scoff and then faintly uttered a firm, “Prove it.”

When Freddy leaned in, Quentin had no choice but to commit to another lip lock. This one was deeper and long enough for his brain to register all associated sensations. Rubbery and charred lips brushing against his smooth ones, the scent of ash and burned flesh flitting into his nostrils, a scratchy tongue sensually licking along the seam of his mouth. God, it was utterly revolting and he hoped Jake was not sticking around to watch this nightmare play out.

Quentin whined when a hand reached down to squeeze his ass, the action opening his mouth wide enough to allow Freddy passage into his reluctant mouth. Please god, oh god, he was going to vomit! With great difficulty, he peeked behind him to discover that Jake had successfully crawled out of sight and hopefully in the appropriate direction. He wished to provide the saboteur with as much time as possible, but his resolve was weakening substantially with each millisecond. The feeling of an unwanted tongue, with a flavour most foul, rubbing against his own was too much to stomach.

Eyelids slanting to form a disgusted glare, Quentin violently drove his knee into Freddy’s groin. Smiling when the bastard doubled over, he administered a powerful kick to the man’s jaw, the bone cracking under his shoe from the impact. Making sure Freddy was thoroughly incapacitated, he then bolted to the hatch while spitting out wads of saliva the entire way. A bath and a leafy mouth rinse were required after this gross bullshit.

Circling around the side of the building, Quentin noticed that Jake had not opened the hatch but was lying lifelessly next to it. Was the other waiting for him this whole time? Why would Jake do that?

Since the trapdoor remained closed, clearly the survivalist was not dead and a quick check of his pulse confirmed it. Thus, it seemed that Jake had lost consciousness from blood loss which the excess amount of lacerations on his body easily explained. Whatever the saboteur did, Freddy obvious disliked it.

Without another minute of stalling, Quentin retrieved the key from his friend and proceeded to open the hatch. The trapdoor immediately swung open and the haunting call of the fog invited him to dive in to safety. He mouthed a brief apology to Jake before dragging his oddly heavy body forward and dumping it unceremoniously into the opening. Quentin then jumped in shortly afterwards, the chilly fog coiling around his sneaker-clad feet momentarily until something latched onto his torso midair.

“NO! No, no—”

“Sneaky little shit,” Freddy bellowed in outrage, the bastard pinning his arms to his midsection tightly while carting him away from his ticket to freedom. Fuck this nonsense; he needed to get out of hellhole right now!

Struggling for but a moment, the dream demon threw him against the ground, squatted down and proceeded to repeatedly slam his skull into the hard earth. Every blow scattered his wild thoughts into oblivion and rendered him too disoriented to move. Warm blood dampened one corner of his beanie, the material soaking up most of the sticky liquid yet some eventually trailed down the side of his temple.

Blearily eyeing the killer towering above him when the blows ceased, Quentin vaguely heard Freddy say, “You asked for this.”

Then, similar to power outage knocking out all the lights, a shoe collided with his face and all was darkness.


	41. Remember Me | Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned!

Quentin instantly groaned at the terrible ache knocking around in his skull, the painful sensation dissuading him from moving an inch. Normally sleeping was a decent way to relieve a headache though clearly not this one. When did he acquire such a powerful headache anyways? And why was it so dark and cold?

Eyelids fluttered in confusion at the consistent blackness surrounding his field of vision. Since when had it ever been this dark before? Additionally, judging by the shivers afflicting his torso, Quentin ventured to guess that he was currently shirtless. An oddity for sure yet not entirely without reason. Perhaps he had suffered injury during his previous trial and his wounds required attention, but that did not explain the abnormal darkness or the lack of circulation in his arms and wrists… oh god.

He had not escaped his recent trial, the realization dawning on his psyche in the cruelest manner possible.

“Naptime’s over Quen,” a horribly familiar voice uttered from above. Faint shuffling noises ensued before Quentin found the scruff of his neck wrenched upward and a pair of burned lips brushing alongside his ear. “Time to wake up.”

He lightly cringed at the unwelcome sensation of foul breath prickling at his skin yet his snappy remark showed no such weakness. “I’m awake. Now lemme go ass—”

“That’s good,” Freddy chipperly responded, the sicko minutely nipping at his earlobe before harshly throwing him to the ground, “because I’d hate for you to be snoozing through your punishment.”

Half-naked, bound and blindfolded was a frightening combination to stomach and it meant that Freddy had  _unusual_  plans for him. Given that he still wore his jeans, Quentin had to assume whatever the bastard had in store involved something besides the normal torture. Then again, an experimental wiggle of his chilled toes confirmed that Freddy had taken his socks and sneakers from him at some point. Shoes, and occasionally socks, were an obstacle in removing pants, and the fact that the other male had gone through the hassle of taking off his footwear…

Stop scaring yourself, his mind sternly advised though even his inner voice sounded panicked.

“This is what you wanted,” the dream demon kindly reminded him, the man administering a firm kick to his spine when be tried to stand, “to be punished in place of your friends. You deserve more than a simple timeout.”

Grimacing from the mild blow, Quentin hissed out an impatient, “So get on with it! Stop wasting my t—”

“Especially after that little _stunt_ you pulled earlier,” the killer interrupted, the man evidently ignoring his demands.

His unanticipated kiss was likely the little stunt Freddy spoke of and, despite the lingering aftertaste of burned flesh sticking to his lips, Quentin was quite proud of its results. He only wished he was able to witness the surely peeved and priceless look Freddy sported after his trick was uncovered.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he quipped with a shit-eating grin, his body gradually maneuvering into a kneeling position. Hearing the floorboards creak all around him suggested that Freddy was circling him, his deliberate motions resembling a vulture flying in wait to devour its next meal. It also told him that he had been dragged somewhere into the pit given the lack of loud rumbling—a noise which the rundown shack would have had from the repaired generator. Armed with that knowledge, he held his head high and mentally readied himself for an opportunity to escape. “I didn’t do it for your benefit.”

“I noticed,” Freddy muttered bitterly and then promptly kicked Quentin back down on his side. “Those friends of yours are bad influences.”

“Oww, fuck… heh. Actually,” Quentin started to say as he boldly rose to his knees for a second time, “I learned that pathetic trick from the best, y’know, since you’re so—Hah!”

Freddy obviously did not appreciate his insult and, instead of kicking him again, chose to slash at his chest which he unintentionally put on display. Quentin stiffened from the strike yet remained upright, the fresh slices feeling aflame in comparison to the cool breeze licking at his shivering flesh. Warm fluid slowly seeped out from the wounds and proceeded to mark separate trails through the contours of his lean musculature. The sick bastard was probably thrilled watching him bleed, helpless and alone in some godforsaken forest of misery. Life really sucked sometimes.

Only when the intensity of the lacerations lessened to that of a mild sting did Quentin imposingly straighten his posture. His defiance, though utterly heedless, was what was going to get him through this ordeal. Besides, if Freddy was hellbent on tormenting him then why not give the demented bastard a sampling of his own medicine? Only he intended to make the bastard choke on the bitter brew.

“This new deceitful, selfish behaviour of yours is inexcusable,” the dream demon declared in a strange tone of voice, something sounding akin to a mixture of disappointment and smugness, “and I should really practice what I preach.”

“Practice what? What’re you gonna do?”

“I mentioned awhile back about different lesson plans and teaching styles,” he heard Freddy babble, the sound of knifes scraping together filling in as background noise, “about catering to the individual child… and it seems I need to do the same for you.”

“M’not a  _child_  anymore, and you can’t…” Quentin petered off when Freddy gathered him into scratchy arms and pulled him against an itchy, sweater-clad chest. “What’re you doing?”

The killer forced, albeit in an oddly gentle fashion, him to lay on his left side and then held him in place with a strong hand. “You’ll see.”

Fuck that noise! In lieu of cooperating with the older male, Quentin stubbornly bucked and squirmed on the floorboards in an effort to miraculously dislodge Freddy. A sharp sensation pricking at the underside of his chin had him freezing mid-wiggle. Those stupid claws. Wait, maybe… he had an inkling of what events were to come, and running to the hatch seemed improbable in his present state. If he had a choice between torture or death, then the latter was greatly preferable. Killing himself was going to feel extremely unpleasant, but at least this nightmarish trial would be over.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Freddy scolded, his blades swiftly retracting when Quentin attempted to angle his throat into them. “Nice try, but you already finished taking your nap.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you trying to bargain with me?”

“No, it means you’re an absolute  _dick_ ,” Quentin bit out only to immediately wince from a tiny slice to his upturned cheek, “and I’m not interested in any teachings of yours.”

“And yet you used my ‘pathetic trick’ just a little while ago.”

Grumbling in annoyance, Quentin kept his tongue under wraps and focused on wrestling his bound wrists free instead. Since Freddy caught him in the act, he doubted that the man was going to rest his knifes anywhere near his throat again—not until his ‘punishment’ was complete. What other options were there? Distracting the dream demon with conversation was doable, possibly anger the man to the point of ending his life, but Freddy was sure to discover his intentions beforehand. No, he needed something new, something entirely different to—

“You’ve gotten awfully quiet,” Freddy keenly observed as an unknown leather-like pressure gliding across his toned, hairless arm. “What’re you thinking about angelfish?”

Pondering minutely of what to do, he snippily countered with, “What d’you think I’m thinking about?”

“I know you’re thinking of things you  _shouldn’t_  be worried about. Now,” the killer spoke, gloveless hand tightly squeezing Quentin by the bicep, “pay attention.”

“To what? You’re not doing anything.”

Fingers, by the feel of it, softly danced across his forehead and then along the curve of his ribs before Freddy said, “Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“You’re being weird and disgusting… and petty,” he added when Freddy nicked his shoulder in response to his comment.

“Keep guessing.”

What was he supposed to say? Was it pure molestation? Or maybe humiliation? It seemed to be both in a sense though, thankfully, Freddy kept his hands away from his groin and ass. His feet, however, were not out of the equation as something occasionally ran along the outline of his heel or brushed between his toes. Was this turning into tickle torture? Quentin spitefully kicked his legs out when something grasped his pinkie toe only to have his ankle speedily slashed, the sudden burst of pain causing him to flinch. What the hell did the sicko gain by doing this?

The weirdness carried on for quite some time which was too long in his opinion. Freddy alternated between sensually trailing fingers—from the feel of it—over ever inch of exposed skin, his feather-light touch making Quentin highly uncomfortable and twitchy, to digging the tips of his blades in. Each individual slice, which were sometimes lazy and sometimes fast but not necessarily in the same places those grotesque fingers had previously touched, seemed too thin to be damaging or life-threatening. Was this sorry excuse for torture even _worth_ committing suicide over? Not right this second, but things may escalate.

Quentin initially thought Freddy was teasing him as punishment for his trickery from before. As time went by, he then disgustedly assumed this game of touch-and-slash was some form of creepy foreplay. Yet, when the minutes continued to stretch onward, he adopted the belief that this was a wholly different mind game altogether. Either way, he was incredibly _bored_.

“M’gonna fall asleep if you keeping this up,” Quentin warned with a cheeky smile. “Whatever reaction you’re trying to get outta me—” The sound of Freddy cackling like a demon gave him abrupt pause and prompted him to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“You haven’t noticed? I thought you’d be able to feel it by now.”

“Feel what?” What Quentin guessed to be two slick fingers started tapping against his upturned shoulder before leisurely trailing to his collarbone and then running awkwardly down the curves of his abs to his lower stomach. When those digits passed his navel, they then slowly tiptoed downward to tap at his clothed crotch which, to his mortification, was pitching a tent. “No fucking way,” he mumbled in sheer disbelief at the betrayal of his body. How did something like _this_ get him hard?

“You belong to me,” Freddy blatantly stated, his tone harsher than his playful fingers. “I own your body and I own your stubborn mind. It, unlike your body, just needs to realize that.”

“You own  _nothing_  of mine, you sick fuck. Never did,  _never will_.”

Silence ensued for a moment and then Quentin audibly gulped at the utterance of an ominous, “We’ll see about that.” He was violently pulled onto his knees by his greasy hair, the grip on his roots nearly tearing them out. “Hmm, you cut your hair,” Freddy remarked with a satisfied tone of voice. “Makes you look even cuter.”

Willing an embarrassed flush from spreading across his cheeks, Quentin emitted an aggressive, “Shut up!”

Strangely enough, the hand tangled in his curls was the gloved one, its attached blades dangerously scraping at the back of his scalp. Even if he jerked his skull into the sharpened edges, it probably would not kill him which Freddy probably knew. Goddamn his putrid luck for the twenty-millionth time. Registering the sound of zipper teeth clicking together and the rustling of fabric had him instantly thrashing for escape. This position was indicative of one _very_ specific activity, and he was absolutely  _not_  sucking Freddy’s dick!

Quentin tightly clamped his jaw shut when his blind squirming did not produce successful results; however, something swiftly plugged his nose shortly afterwards which effectively blocked his alternative oxygen source. In spite of his hopeless situation, he stubbornly endured the burn accumulating in his lungs and struggled for dear life.

Be defiant, be strong. Do not give up!

Sadly his body betrayed him yet again, his mouth dropping open to greedily inhale some precious air only to suck in something solid. Quentin attempted to bite down on the repulsive appendage but a pressure suddenly manifested on his jaw and squeezed it in an excruciating vice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… unless you’d prefer something else. David was able to swallow a flashlight handle rather well,” the bastard gleefully informed him, “stretched his throat out  _real_  nicely.”

Sonofabitch! He glared at the dream demon beneath his blindfold for subjecting David to such gruesome torment. Quentin recalled the scrapper gloating about doing similar to Freddy during his trial at the farm with Bill, Nea and Dwight. The sick bastard must have returned the favour at some point later on though David never mentioned anything about it. He figured his boyfriend had no desire to regale his tales of defeat or simply preferred to keep that kind of information under lock and key. Whichever was the case, he respected it.

Disregarding the pitiful threat, Quentin difficultly forced his jaw shut, his teeth narrowly puncturing into charbroiled skin before it was hastily removed. An enraged growl followed before his mouth was pried open and something dreadfully cold and sharp dug painfully into his upper gumline. He let out a choked howl at the feeling of his gums being shredded and one of his upper teeth being yanked clean from its proper place.

“Guess I’ll have to take these out first,” the dream demon announced. “Or maybe you’d like to apologize?”

The newly created, achy hole in his mouth practically screamed for him to express his regret yet his resolve ultimately prevailed. Spitting a wad of blood forward, Quentin defiantly seethed, “Go to hell.”

Another tooth, this time from his bottom left, was instantly taken out in the same fashion as the first. Although, the pain seemed far more severe the second time around, the burning hollows in his gums also worsening his pre-existent headache. And the bleeding… fuck! Who knew gums bled some much?

“Which one should I take out next?”

Freddy sounded so eager, perhaps even a touch maniacal, at the idea of cutting and ripping the remaining teeth out of his mouth. The dream demon apparently took his lack of reply—or rather his agonized sobs—as an invitation to steal yet another innocent tooth from its home.

Stifling his cries momentarily, Quentin murmured a quiet, “St-Stop.”

“Hmm,” Freddy hummed, the man’s palms cupping his jaw as if in preparation to extract another tooth from him, “did you say something?”

“No-No stop, no! NO MORE!” he frightfully shrieked, his form protectively shrinking backwards. “I-I won’t bite, I won’t bite you!” Why was he so weak?

“And what else?” Failing to stop his despicable tears, Quentin breathed out the faintest of apologies as his head bowed in shame. “Now that wasn’t so hard,” the monster purred while patting him affectionately on the scalp, “was it?”

Please God, please end this!

When something nudged at his blood-covered lips, Quentin swallowed his pride—and an ounce of metallic fluid—and allowed his mouth to open wide. Freddy’s cock felt horrid sliding across his tongue, what was left of the skin a combination of charred, leathery and bumpy. There were distinct holes too, most fairly small and equally disgusting to feel rubbing along his taste buds. One hole in particular, an oval-shaped one near the centre, was big enough to allow his tongue to slip into it. He was actually able to poke the tip of his tongue underneath the mangled flap and feel  _inside_  the organ. Gross, gross, _gross!_ How had he not noticed these details sooner?

Impulsively, he jerked his head back and immediately vomited onto the floorboards below. Some of the sour bile lodged itself into the gaps in his gums, the heat of the acid adding a new and powerful sting to the wounds. Quentin attempted to cough out every last drop of fluid there was until an impatient somebody forced a flaky sausage back into his mouth.

“I was almost done too,” Freddy sarcastically commented, his thrusts gradually going deeper.

Each speedy movement had Quentin gagging, the tip of the man’s member not only touching the back of his esophagus but curving down into it somewhat too. Taking David was taxing more so because of the scrapper’s girth but Freddy was far longer. Yet Quentin endured it, fuck did he endure every grueling second of agony, but the necessity to breathe was becoming an issue. He really did not want to puke for a second time either but the urge was building up. Why the hell was he doing this again?

Before he blacked-out, his nose was squashed into Freddy’s pelvis and then released a cringe-worthy, content moan. The warm, gooey sensation of seed essentially being fed into his throat was undeniably revolting, and the flavour of it was even worse. He was going to upchuck!

“You  _belong_  to me,” the monster lowly repeated, his voice sounding far too commanding and sinister.

“N-No asshole,” Quentin uttered after spitting out the fleshy obstruction, his gut temporarily postponing the threat to expel its contents. “No I _don’t_. Why can’t you understand? You can beat me, cut me, rape me and kill me all you want… but that _doesn’t_ make me yours. M’not your boy and I’m  _not_  your damn angelfish! I don’t belong to  _you_  or anyone else, and you _can’t_ change that!”

A tense minute followed where only the soft sounds of nesting crows were discernable. Had he actually silenced the nauseating windbag for once? Maybe there was a god. Quentin was abruptly startled a murderous roar which then led to his face being pressed into a wet, rancid-smelling puddle. Wiggling in discomfort, he whimpered at the removal of his jeans and boxers and then squeaked when his butt was wrestled in the air. He fucked up, he fucked up so bad.

“Fred— _AAAHHH!_ ”

Without warning or preparation, Freddy uncaringly plunged deep inside his ass, the scorching stretch ranking as the most excruciating pain he had experienced this trial. Perhaps ever. Freddy must have wiped his dick clean before penetrating him; it was the only plausible explanation for—oh fuck, it _hurt!_ It was too much, way too fucking much! He blearily noticed the dream demon hiss in obvious discomfort yet the monster instantly jumped right into setting a brutal, unforgiving pace. Sick bastard was not holding even a sliver of his strength back. Freddy _wanted_ this to hurt no matter what.

With barely any slickness other than his own blood, the thrusts were unbearably horrendous. No, he was wrong: this was the _greatest_ pain he had ever experienced in his whole life! David at least let him adjust and, thanks to his efforts, the scrapper was not bone dry when they had sex.

David. At the thought of his boyfriend, Quentin attempted to drudge up the memory of their time together: the happiness he experienced when playfully teasing David into hardness; the lustful and hungry looks the scrapper gave him when bounced on the other’s cock; the pleasant sight of David turning into a sweaty, panting mess when the man was giving it his all; the surge of excitement he felt from the rough, yet very much desired, treatment; and the surprisingly gentle way the scrapper held him after their fun ended. It was everything he thought a first time should include, how it was really supposed to be instead of—

“You little shit!” Freddy exasperatedly yelled, the voice snapping Quentin back into the present. “You think you can backtalk _me?!_ Oh, you’ll learn. I’ll see to that, even if I have to destroy all of your little friends and your bone-headed boyfriend to do it. One way or another… YOU. WILL. FUCKING. _LEARN!_ ”

Each harsh word was accompanied by a savage jab, the powerful thrusts forcing his neck to bend at a sickening angle. Quentin was incapable of determining which part of his insides hurt the most. Everything was on fire, the blaze melting his innards as red-hot lava did to anything that dared cross its path. Other pain—his headache, the holes in his mouth, the bruising grip on his hips, and the numerous scratches littering his body—paled in comparison to this. He wanted to die, he wanted to die right-fucking-now! _No more pain!_

“You _belong_ to me! You _cannot_ escape me!” Freddy sternly expressed. “And you will _never_ forget me!”

Mere moments later, Quentin whined at the wetness flooding his bowels. He was essentially equivalent to a plushy, defenseless doughnut and Freddy had just inserted his special cream filling into him. A Boston cream doughnut: a disturbingly accurate analogy for his unfortunate predicament. Now all he needed was the Entity to take a giant, life-sized bite out of him to make the it all the more realistic. Although, Ace had called him an emotional marshmallow so… he was totally losing his mind.

Quentin offered but a feeble wince when Freddy pulled free, his residual strength pouring out of him in waves similar to the fluid between his legs. Exhausted beyond belief, he simply slumped into the sullied floorboards and awaited death. Why was he not dying faster? The amount of blood he lost should be enough to kill him, right?

Noticing a brightness that was not visible before, he cracked an eye open to see that his blindfold had slipped off during the rough fucking. With his sight partially restored, Quentin blearily spotted the dirty rapist strolling to a nearby entrance to the pit—the one with two lockers sitting on the opposite wall. If looks were capable of murder, Freddy would be a pile of ash scattered in the breeze right now.

The dream demon glowered at the darkened sky, his posture oddly stiff as he quietly seethed, “Fucking Entity bitch.”

The Entity? Was their god-like captor speaking to Freddy? Pondering all of the possibilities of the idea was a task his drained mind was unfit to accomplish. Sleep, his inner voice chanted, sleep and forget. If only it were that easy.

Re-adjusting his suddenly blurred vision, he discovered Freddy crouching directly in front of him while sporting an unplaceable frown instead of the smug smirk Quentin was expecting. Was the man upset with the Entity for interrupting their time?

“You brought this on yourself,” the bastard gently whispered to him, a statement both vexing and perplexing to hear. Vexing because he had _never_ deserved to suffer through such hardships, yet perplexing because of the unfamiliar tone Freddy used.

If his brain was functioning within reason, Quentin was almost positive that his worst nightmare sounded _remorseful_. Sick bastard was probably just fucking with him again, or maybe his mind had finally shattered into tiny, unsalvageable bits and pieces.

“I’d think we’d both benefit if you’d come and visit me sometime,” Freddy softly spoke, gloveless hand extending to gingerly muse his damp, itchy curls. “I really miss seeing you in your dreams Quen, the fun games we play together, though I suppose I could play with your friends instead. They’re not—”

“P-Please, just… don’t,” Quentin tiredly croaked, his voice practically sticking to the roof of his mouth. Please, he internally prayed, let no one else suffer this unpleasantness. “I’ll… v-visit.”

“That’s my smart little boy. I look forward to seeing you again soon  _angelfish_ ,” the dream demon sweetly emphasized while eyeing him with fondness. It was sick. “And try not to be too tardy, otherwise David’ll see just how nasty my punishments can be.”

Nasty? _Nasty?!_ Was this experience _not_ nasty? If so, then Quentin really did not wish to know what nasty really entailed, and he sure as hell did not want David suffering through whatever it was.

Feeling a tender kiss planted on his sliced cheek, Quentin witnessed Freddy rise to his feet and exit the pit with a strangely saddened expression. Why was the man… wait, Freddy did not kill him this time around? What the hell was happening to the world?

Fuzzy spots had doubled in his field of vision, their spiraling movement raising his dizziness beyond manageable levels. The lingering twitches in his limbs had also dissipated while a numbness engulfed his nether regions. Here it was; he was slowing slipping away. Thank god! But… was Freddy going to come back? Hopefully not though it hardly mattered as he had no means of defending himself. Sleep, his brain forcibly reminded him, its voice echoing in every corner of his skull.

Believing his nightmare to have officially ended for the time being, Quentin shut his eyes and allowed the comforting summons of a familiar, numbing darkness to claim him.


	42. An Array Of Emotions

David had given a subpar explanation of his experience with The Doctor to his mates present at the campfire. His lack of enthusiasm whilst speaking was unfortunately noticeable, the aftermath of his imparted words resulting in a couple of frowning faces. Frankly he remembered little of the events which transpired in the trial aside from the ungodly agony. Feng claimed that he had been freaking out which, curtesy of Ace, translated to hallucinating. Her account of his behaviour however was quite disturbing to say the least. The self-inflicted injuries, the crazed look he supposedly wore, and the over-the-top bizarre screaming were hard to accept. Even more so was the alarming fact that he had mistakenly attacked Dwight and Feng during his violent rampage.

The gamer held no feelings of resentment towards him for his actions but David certainly did not sympathize with himself. He had nearly choked the life from her, the faint bruise marks from his brutality still visible from where he sat at the fire. And his mood only worsened when their leader—surprisingly wearing a dark gray vest, a black collared shirt and smoky denim chinos—returned to the campground.

Waving off the boisterous comments regarding his attire, Dwight had immediately regaled the events of his experience from his latest trial: the killer ruining their already slow progress; the regret of leaving Jake to dangle even though the saboteur requested it; and the atrocities The Nightmare committed which led him to face the killer alone.

David had permitted his fury to consume him, his fists clenching tight at the thought of the other male giving into his cowardice and leaving the others—namely Quentin—to survive through the remainder of the trial by their lonesome. As such, he had grappled with Dwight in the belief that the leader was lying about his bravery, his patience for such blatant tall tales not withstanding. Yet, instead of sporting a look of shame or disappointment, Dwight had appeared adamant as the man scrapped with him. A brief interlude where they were separated allowed their leader to repeat his previous words, slowly and with emphasis, while staring David down with a serious, unwavering glint radiating from his gaze.

After a tense minute, he came to the shocking conclusion that Dwight had told the truth. The cowardly bugger actually grew a pair of fucking balls and fought back against a killer! Such a remarkable feat had been rewarded with an approving, bone-crushing hug while the others cheered or fondly sighed at the welcome change in atmosphere.

Sadly the celebration had been cut short when Claudette—sporting a white sweater with complimenting neck scarf, a mid-thigh skirt, leggings and knee-high suede boots—joined their joyous cluster in tears. His spirit dipped for a second time when she had offered her perspective of the trial: the disgust of having foreign fingers grazing across her skin; the fear of falling prey to a monster with seemingly no restraint; and the utter guilt she harbored for deserting Dwight and Quentin at the mere sound of a child singing. David had wrestled with his thoughts at the time, his abnormal emotions driving him to distance himself from his friends.

Even now, in lieu of comforting the sniffling botanist with the others, David was glaring at the book, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, currently sitting in his lap. The book was one of the many treasures Meg had discovered during her exploration of their homely forest—including a new open-necked, cream-coloured shirt for him. Why he opted to stare at the cover instead of glancing at its insides was not as interesting as it seemed. His mental state was in a funny place, his unfocused mind not entirely awake yet not fully drowsy either. Was this some kind of depressive episode? What a load of shite.

A lazy peek at the others showed them to be still consolidating Claudette, their compassionate hands and ears giving her security and peace of mind. Personally David thought the botanist was exaggerating a bit too much. Yes, unwanted groping was appalling but crying about it was not productive either. If she had maintained her composure and fought back, then she might have escaped from her aggressor sooner. Besides, the worst did not happen so her continued theatrics were irrational at this point.

Perhaps he was simply bitter that she had abandoned Quentin in a panic. Perhaps he was worried what that perverted bastard might do to his love. Stay positive, his brain whispered in an attempt to defuse his rousing emotions. How was he to listen when the same inner voice spouted negativity in equal measure?

In need of a distraction, David finally cracked open the book in his lap and perused the material. His fingers glided across the waxy, almost gritty pages as his curious orbs soaked in every aspect of the story. It spoke of a man with a unique musical instrument saving a medieval town from a rat infestation by luring the rodents into a river to drown. Only, instead of praise and proper payment for his deed, the piper was met with accusations and betrayal. Seeking revenge, the cheated piper returned to the town and, using his pipe, lured all of the children away while their parents attended church. The children were never seen again after that and neither was the piper.

Closing the book, David willed the nauseous feeling in his gut to vanish along with the children in the story. The material sounded so reminiscent of what Quentin had revealed to them so long ago. Krueger was supposedly an innocent groundskeeper doing a simple job and took his payment, or extra payments, in the form of violating children. When the parents discovered the truth and burned him alive, the bastard must have felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Therefore, similar to the piper in the book, Krueger returned to the town years later to ‘lure’ away their precious kids. It was depressing.

Obviously the universe did not wish to provide him with any mental ease. Fan-bloody-tastic.

Glancing back at his mates, David raised an eyebrow at the sight of Jake sitting amongst a bunch of standing bodies crowding around him. When did Jake get back? And where had Dwight and Claudette buggered off to? He knew he had not been reading for too long so… wait, where was Quentin?

Did Jake abandon the teen too, or did that selfless prat sacrifice himself again? Teeth gritted in outrage, David marched over to the gloomy group and grabbed Jake by the collar of his shirt.

“Where’s Quen?”

“I don’t know,” Jake patiently responded while dangling in the air, his obsidian eyes appearing almost annoyed.

“Ya don’ know?”

“I already explained my take on the trial.”

“And we were trying to call you over here,” Feng chimed in with a finger pointed to the sky, “but you were nose deep in that book.”

Reigning in the raging heat warming his skin, David stiffly set Jake down and then lowly commanded, “Explain it again.”

“The Nightmare was going to target Quentin so I stepped in to take the hit. Unfortunately the killer downed me shortly afterwards but before… before anything else,” Jake uttered hesitantly, his words sounding slightly off, “Quentin persuaded Krueger against killing me. While distracting the killer, he slipped me a key presumably so I could escape.”

“So ya did leave ‘im behind!”

“No,” the saboteur sternly protested. “I remember crawling towards the sound of the hatch, but I cannot recall if I made it there or not. But I know I _didn’t_ leave.”

“Calm down son,” Bill interjected when David took a menacing step towards Jake. “There’s nothin’ to be done about—”

With a palm thrusted in front of the elder, the survivalist coolly stated, “Let him vent.”

“Are you sure that’s a good call?”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you concussed?”

“Vent now before Quentin comes back,” Jake elaborated, his posture taking on a subtle defensive stance, “because the last thing he’ll need is your temper.”

Moderately irked by the hidden threat, David steeled his gaze and muttered a hostile, “Wha’s ‘at supposed ta mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. Your temper and your negativity about his choices will make him feel worse.”

“Good, I ‘ope it does,” he thoughtlessly spat. “Maybe then he’ll stop actin’ like a damn martyr—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Feng interrupted with a dramatic display of arm waving before directing her attention to Jake. “You’re actually _okay_ with what Quentin did?”

“I am far from okay with it,” the saboteur stressed in a faintly shaky tone, his emotions beginning to slip into the open, “but I understand why he does what he does. Especially given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Laurie questioned, her expression a telltale sign of her uneasiness. “You didn’t mention circum—”

“The killer was not in the cheeriest of moods and, if not for Quentin, The Nightmare may have… he would’ve probably…” Jake weakly petered off, his gaze downcast as his fingers fiddled with the sleeves of his knotted windbreaker. When the tension stretched on, David made to speak only for the survivalist to bark out, “The killer might’ve very well raped me!”

“What?!”

“Oh my god!” Feng repulsively exclaimed, her palms extending upward to hover over her mouth. “Is that why your pants… is that why your windbreaker is tied around your waist?”

“Figlio di puttana,” Ace aggressively shouted, the rarity of such an utterance stunning the gamer somewhat, while Bill merely shook his head in obvious revulsion.

Laurie approached Jake to place a cautious hand on his shoulder as she whispered a devastated, “Raven…”

Brushing off her touch, the saboteur instead rested his forehead against the babysitter’s while murmuring a barely audible, “I’m alright bluebird.”

“Fucking Christ!” David exasperatedly cursed as he threw his arms to the side in a huff.

Separating from his bubble of friends, his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his scalp whilst he tried to calm down. What ever happened to their usual, boring trials? Why did nothing ever seem to work out in their favour? Catching a glimpse of the discarded book from before, he swiftly snatched it up and heedlessly cast the thing into the fire. The blaze burned brighter for the briefest of seconds before exploding into a myriad of fiery colours, the vibrant display unexpected though not overly concerning.

Then a frigid sensation coiling around his legs had David growling irritably, the fog rolling in from the shadows to collect him and Ace. Clearly the solution to their misery was _more_ unbearable misery. The Entity was a real bitch!

Following the wisps of fog with her robin egg blue eyes, Laurie warily asked, “Does this mean that Quentin made it out?”

“Looks that way,” Bill commented, his squinted eyes heightening the suspicion in his tone. “A new trial wouldn’t start otherwise.”

“I-I guess,” Feng unsteadily added. “It’s been a really long time though.”

Quentin better be alright, his mind furiously seethed in the absence of any vocal remark on his part. Rattling off a few words of pseudo confidence to the other survivors, David embraced the inevitable bloodshed and violence to come. A few rounds with the killer seemed like the perfect stress relief to correct his sour mood. His field of vision obscured at the very moment he spotted a stoic Quentin walking out from the treeline.

\--------------------

Spawning into the realm between Meg and Nea was not favorable and nor was the map of choice. Why was it the bloody preschool of all places? And what happened to their clothes? Meg now sported a pink jogging hoodie, teal graphic T-shirt, sweatpants and red-gray running shoes while Nea was dressed in a multicoloured skull print top and ripped black leggings. Looking down at his own attire, David noted that his old clothes had been replaced with a gray woolen sweater, a tan-coloured overcoat, and dark cargo trousers.

Was this charity or did the Entity simply grow tired of their recurrent wardrobe?

“Well, well,” Meg rudely remarked, her baby blue eyes racking over his form with disdain, “lookie who it is.”

“Right back atcha lass.” He was by no means in the mood to listen to their whiny commentary about his prior spat with the tag artist. Witnessing the absent tension between both women, David bluntly mentioned, “I ‘eard the two of ya made up.”

“We did,” Nea speedily confirmed, her statement blocking off whatever surely nasty remark Meg wanted to voice, “and now it’s our turn.”

“Oh is it ev—”

“Cherry bomb, please, I’ve got this.”

After patting her girlfriend reassuringly on the shoulder, the tag artist approached him with an odd sort of expression plastered on her face. Nea regarded him briefly with a half nod when she entered his personal space before delivering a nimble punch to his left cheek. The blow was expected though it stung far greater than anticipated.

“I probably deserved ‘at—” David was abruptly silenced by the feeling of arms encircling his torso in a tender hug. “Not sure I deserve ‘is though.”

“The punch was for the usual, y’know, for being _you_. This,” the tag artist emphasized with a squeeze to his stomach, “this is for being _partially_ right.”

Taking a deep breath, his hands reached up to reciprocate the embrace as he uttered, “So, ‘bout wha’ I said bef—”

“She’s not finished yet,” Meg informatively hollered, her outburst causing Nea to shoot a sharp glare at the runner.

“I hated what you said to me,” the tag artist resumed after locking eyes with him, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I chose to stay with my parents the entire time but I could’ve easily left to be with my friends and true home again.”

“Umm—”

“I blamed them when I had a choice all along. Maybe not right away, but it was always there and I was too caught up in my own anger and self-pity to notice. But this time,” Nea fondly spoke, her neck cranking to the side whilst she assumedly eyed Meg, “I’m _not_ letting the best person in my life run away without me.”

The sentiment was relieving to hear, with his respect for the artist vastly improved, yet his mouth decided to mumble out a dumb, “So…”

“So that’s all there is to it stud. Unless, of course, you wanna say something?”

“‘Suppose an apology might sound—”

“Repetitive? Yeah, it would, but I accept your apology David. Oh,” Nea quickly added, “and you owe me three firecrackers.”

David snorted in approval of her ongoing love for small explosives and made a mental note to attempt their collection later down the road. His scrounging normally did not produce the most useful of items but it might be interesting to try.

“I have words for you,” Meg suddenly spat, her position no longer several feet away from him.

“I can think of a few myself.”

“But, since I’ve been a selfish bitch and you’ll never stop being an ass,” the runner tiredly stated with a partial shrug, “I guess we’ll call it even this time.”

Offering her a similar shrug, he uttered a casual, “I’ve settled for less.”

“If you guys’re finished chatting,” the tag artist spoke from afar, “I’d appreciate some help with this gen.”

Brushing off the light punch the runner administered to his shoulder, he and Meg joined Nea to complete the first of five generators to follow.

The remainder of the trial progressed somewhat uneventfully which was a nice change of pace given his initial expectations. David had led The Cannibal on a long chase through the preschool and, when he was finally downed, Meg happily took over. All the while Nea and Ace repaired generators left and right, their natural abilities mostly preventing them from falling prey to the killer.

What were the odds of having such an easygoing match? Then again, The Cannibal was fairly simple to outmaneuver, the swings of his chainsaw too wide or too sloppy to be troublesome. Despite this, the killer did manage to hook each of them once which, he argued, was not terribly impressive.

During the length of the trial, Meg had discovered an emergency medical kit though it was depleted all too soon. In contrast, Ace had found a key but was determined to save it for future use. The sole chest David had searched through yielded nothing more than a weathered toolbox which was left behind when The Cannibal knocked it out of his hand. The killer might be weak at patrolling generators or catching them off-guard, but that vicious swing of his was hard to ignore.

In the end, the four of them had crowded around the exit gate switch, their laughter and cheers echoing throughout the empty streets. Standing so close together had likely been a foolish move, especially given how The Cannibal could down them all with one wave of his reeved weapon, but he was not mithered in the slightest. David was daring enough to admit that they had been drunk on their merriment, the unbridled feeling of sheer joy fueling him—and probably the others too—with the will to do more than just survive.

This was what he liked to see in these hellish sessions: the killer completely failing to decimate them; their hope and perseverance plentifully paying off; and the figurative middle finger the Entity received from their surely undesired survival. It was pure bliss to experience, like savouring the symphony of flavour a rich pint of booze provided to his taste buds.

Standing at the edge of the foggy barrier with his teammates, each of them spewed their own jeers at the approaching killer before rushing into the thick, smoky mist. It felt immensely satisfying to secure such a win, but David knew his return to the campground was not going to be as delightful.

\--------------------

His minor wounds were of little consequence yet Quentin fussed over them anyway. Not that David minded the attention, but his faint snickers were bound to be noticed soon.

“David, please,” the teenager implored, “your arm’s still bleeding.”

It was difficult to keep a straight face with the new outfit Quentin was wearing or, more specifically, the hoodie the younger male wore. The colour of it was a combination of dark blues and browns—similar to his previous attire—with a black branch design running along the sleeves. What was utterly hilarious was the tiny, rounded ears sewn onto the outside of the hood which, cutely enough, resembled that of mouse ears. The accompanying all-black sneakers and baggy, wood brown cargo pants—littered with zippered pockets—were an appealing touch, but it was the mouse hoodie that captured David’s heart.

“David!”

“Huh, oh right, umm, ‘ow ‘bout we go somewhere private for this,” David suggested as the keenly attentive audience currently watching their conversation was not appreciated. At Quentin’s hesitation, he added a reassuring, “We don’ gotta talk ‘bout wha’ ‘appened with you and Fred—”

“Fine, whatever.”

It was a snippy and curt reply, one which had David wishing to be anywhere else but here. Sometimes it was tougher dealing with Quentin and his moodiness than the murderous killers in the trials. While his love went to retrieve a medical pack from nearby, a tug on his uninjured bicep practically startled the daylights out of him.

“Dammit mate—”

Jake, the culprit, quickly shushed him and said, “I only have a second to speak. He’s trying to act nonchalant and ignore his moment with The Nightmare. Whatever happened this time… just be mindful of his erratic behaviour.”

With that, the saboteur took his leave to rejoin Laurie on the ground by the fire, their bodies being propped up by a random log. David did not know whether to be grateful for the warning or to dread it. And what on earth did ‘erratic’ imply?

“So,” Quentin abruptly voiced, “where to then?”

Stifling the thumping of his galloping heart, David responded with a simple, “Follow me.”

Urging the boy to walk beside him, David led Quentin into the forested area to an unpopular U-shaped pond, the giant boulders in the obstructing the view from each respective side save for the central point. Before his arrival in this world, there had been an instance where some of the men were bathing on the one side and some of the women were bathing on the other. When both parties realized this fact… well, needles to say, it was not an ideal pond for privacy.

Suspecting that Quentin still harbored apprehension towards water, David beckoned the teen to sit farther away from the shoreline where the boy gradually followed suit and then proceeded to clean his cuts and bandage his right bicep. Quentin appeared to be entirely absorbed in his work, the relative silence slowly transforming into restless tension between them. Additionally, aside from touching what required attention, the teen kept a respectable distance from him. No affectionate touching, no pleasant talking. Yeah, this was going to be absolutely grand.

Unable to stomach the misleading tranquility of the moment, David carefully asked, “Are ya ‘urt?”

“Heh. You’re asking _me_ that when you’re the one bleeding?”

“Y’know wha’ I meant love.”

“I’m fine,” Quentin absentmindedly supplied, his hands deftly placing the leftover salve and bandages back into their appropriate spots in his medical kit.

“Rubbish,” David skeptically uttered, his burly hands stealing the medical pack from Quentin and moving it out of reach. “Yer ‘fine’ is neva—”

“Why don’t you tell me ‘bout your trial with The Doctor?” the younger male hotly countered, his fingers faintly digging into the fabric of his cargos.

“My…” David trailed off in thought at how to go about this. The feeble anger the teenager was expressing did not help matters yet this conversation was not exactly moving in a nice direction. It might be best to avoid verbal confrontation. “It’s not important right n—”

“Dammit David!” Quentin suddenly exclaimed, the boy ascending to his feet to tower over David. “I’m not the only one with problems okay? You have them too, and so does everyone else here! I cleaned your wounds with Bill after that trial so I know how _not_ normal it was.”

“Yer right,” David conceded whilst consciously controlling his temper. “It wasn’t normal, but I don’ remember much ‘bout it.”

“Yeah, I know,” the teenager asserted, his arms folding across his chest protectively, “the others told me the same thing. I just thought you might’ve remembered something.”

“Wha’ d’ya want me ta say?”

“I don’t know! God, what d’you want from me?”

Nursing his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, David emitted a weak, “I just wanna… I wanna know ‘at yer alright—”

“No, you want to know what happened to me!” the boy hurriedly snapped, the ears on his hoodie bobbing faintly alongside the shaking of his head. “You have the same look the others do. You guys always wanna know what happens with me and Freddy, but y’know what? Maybe I don’t _want_ to talk about it!”

“M’not tryin’ ta pressure ya—”

“No, no, it’s fine. You _really_ wanna know what happened between Freddy and I?” Quentin inquired, his voice taking on a hysterical tone to match his widening cesious-coloured orbs. “You wanna know how he tied me up—”

“Quen—”

“—and blindfolded me? You wanna know how he lightly brushed his fingers and claws all over my body and actually got me hard?”

“Stop it!” David yelled, his concern mixing unevenly with his mounting rage.

“You wanna know how he tore out three of my teeth before I eventually sucked his dick? You wanna—”

“Fucking _stop!_ ”

“—know how he pinned me to the floor and dry fucked _me?!_ ”

“ _I SAID STOP!_ ”

David abruptly jumped to his feet and went to grab at the teenager but Quentin violently swatted his hand away and took three calculated steps backward. Clearly his love was traumatized by the repulsive things Krueger had done to him, like countless times before, and his anger should be directed at the source and not the adorable victim. That twisted bloke was going to fucking pay… somehow.

What to do about said adorable victim was the next question though. As he pondered his options, a choked sob diverted his gaze back towards Quentin. David sorrowfully observed as a couple silent tears streaked down those pale, pronounced cheeks yet the anger refused to fully dissipate there. Jake was not exaggerating when he mentioned erratic behaviour earlier. How was he supposed to fix this? He never intended to drag the truth out of the boy nor was he prepared for Quentin to provide him with a play-by-play of his grueling ordeal.

One wrong word, one wrong action, and he might lose Quentin to his own demons.

David made a second attempt to reach for the boy though as a gesture of comfort as opposed to one of aggression. Strangely enough, Quentin maintained his self-designated distance while seemingly retreating into himself. Not good; he had to think of something else. Believing that speaking would only complicate the situation further, David opted to rest beneath the base of a mushroom-riddled tree and wordlessly signalled for Quentin to join him. The boy side-eyed him with scrutiny and enmity yet, after some contemplation, Quentin eventually parked his rear beside him.

“M’not gonna ‘urt ya. Y’know ‘at right?” David kindly reminded the wary teen whom continued to deny the inviting arm thrown open for him. “And I know you’re not gonna ‘urt me.” As Quentin scooted farther away from his position, he voiced a semi-broken, “Please love. We both need ‘is. I… I just wanna ‘elp. P-Please.”

When David reopened his arm, the boy cautiously accepted the invitation and slowly snuggled into his side. Mere moments later and Quentin started to openly cry in his embrace, the raw noises tugging painfully on his heartstrings. Pulling the silky hood down and crushing the teen into his chest, he too wept quiet tears of misery into soft brunette curls.

There were always numerous instances where anguish and despair devoured their fleeting moments of happiness—like a flower garden attempting to flourish with countless weeds choking out every beautiful blossom. Nevertheless, he did not condemn this moment as something wholly bad. It was progress in the purest form, a time of healing for the both of them which did not involve ill-timed blowjobs or awkward silences.

Granted he wanted to shag Quentin, god did he desire nothing greater than to indulge in his carnal urges, but sex was not what either of them needed right now. And, by rejecting his basic cravings, he became the bigger man. With such thoughts in mind, David idly recollected his recent nightmare and how being attached to someone like this was more tiring than he had ever imagined. Was the effort truly worth the near constant heartache? Unlike his mirror reflection, he strongly believed it was and, hence, was committed to this rollercoaster of a relationship no matter what insidious horrors the future brought. He was damn well capable of caring!

Their gut-wrenching cries gradually dulled down to intermittent sniffles which eventually morphed into low and shaky breaths. Crying was almost as liberating as lamping people which both annoyed and shocked him in equal degree.

Inhaling the alluring scent of Quentin’s now dampened hair, which was weirdly shorter than before, David softly asked, “Wha’ am I gonna do with ya love?”

The boy readjusted his position in his arms, likely to seek out the most comfortable spot, and then voiced a muffled, “M’sorry Davy.”

“Davy?”

Quentin, however, did not appear to hear his question for the teenager was already slumping weightlessly into his side. David underestimated how exhausted the other actually was but it mattered not as they were both safe for the time being.

But Davy? His bar mates had a habit of calling him Dave every once in a while, so a similar nickname was not unorthodox. Although, maybe ‘Davy’ had merely been a product of a sleep-induced slur, but David secretly adored the term of endearment—assuming that was what it was. Anyone else trying to call him that though was getting their nose broken in. He may aspire to express his care more frequently—in other ways besides sex—but he was no softie. Mostly not.

Briefly ensuring that the teen was wearing his necklace, David maneuvered Quentin to fully rest on top of his torso and watched the younger for any irregularities in his sleep. Hopefully the boy dreamt of his usual pleasant nothingness and not the atrocities he experienced by Krueger’s hand.

The protective medallion Quentin wore, however, was clearly not enough.

One way or another, The Nightmare required an excruciating reminder not to touch his boyfriend. Since his customary methods of throwing fists proved fruitless, David may need to sacrifice more to keep Quentin blissfully safe—both from the dream demon and from his self-destruction. Although what, precisely, did that spell out for his own sanity? And was he capable of handling it in the long run?

So many questions and so few answers. When did life become so complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New outfits are rolling out! Why pick those specific outfits? Not a clue.  
> The idea for the hoodie Quentin now wears is loosely based off of Feng’s bunny hoodie from Dead by Daylight and the rare donkey hoodie from State of Decay 2.  
> Italian ‘figlio di puttana’ roughly translates to ‘son of a bitch’ in English.


	43. You Got To Dream A Little Dream

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” David yelped out, with a hint of a squeak in his voice, when Quentin abruptly sprang up out of the water from behind the scrapper like a sneaky shark swiftly descending on its unsuspecting prey. “Tryin’ ta gimme a ‘eartache?”

He continued to cackle hysterically at such a genuine display of terror and a choked out a sassy, “It’s not my fault you scare easily.”

“Scare easily?” his boyfriend expressed incredulously, those hazel green orbs of his developing a different kind of sparkle to them. “Why y—C’mere ya cheeky lil’ bugger!”

“H-Hey,” Quentin weakly protested, his slippery palms barely latching onto the meaty arms trapping his skull in a headlock as the water from the pond rippled greatly from their roughhousing. “Cut it out.”

Two trials, thankfully not including him in the mix, had past since his unspeakable one with Freddy. Since then, their campground had been fairly quiet and serene though there were a few noticeable differences. For starters, his blackened wrist finally gained its natural pale colour back—and complete sensation too—which had him smirking in triumph.

On a different yet equally cheery note, everyone received new clothing styles from the Entity, some more fitting than others. Bill, for instance, was given a Christmas sweater of sorts, the tacky design not something the elder was fond of though it provided everyone else with a good chuckle. Personally speaking, he was quite taken with Claudette’s new look even if his first glimpse of the outfit came with several tears and apologies from the botanist. She had been rather distraught to learn that he was left alone with Freddy again.

Otherwise, he and the others had joined Meg and her quest to find some kind of escape route from this world. The search was conducted in a matter of convenient spurts really: typically four or five people would venture out together, as a large group or in two smaller ones, into their homely forest and look about for a bit until they were summoned to a trial or the chill in the air became too unbearable. The latter, the unearthly frigid air, was something they feared would consistently interfere with their progress as the fog grew chillier the farther out they trekked into the woods. Meg, in a stubborn rage, had once attempted to brave such coldness only to have literally frozen to death. Given this knowledge and the vastness of the forest, it had Quentin skeptical if escape was possible yet he maintained his faith in their efforts. If not somewhere in the woods, then surely there must be other ways for his friends to leave this hellhole behind.

David, along with select others of their survivor group, did not understand his interest in seeking out an exit if he intended to stay. Quentin had explained that his aid was for their benefit, for their desire to escape, and that he was simply lending a helping hand. David had given him the strangest frown afterwards, something he guessed was a combination of disapproval, sadness and regret. While he was hellbent on remaining here, the scrapper still wrestled with his decision on the matter. Additionally, as time passed, Quentin found it increasingly difficult to convince his boyfriend to chase after his old life on the outside which David so rightfully deserved. Yet, in unspoken truth, he selfishly wished for the scrapper to stay by his side.

“Alright, alright,” Quentin hastily voiced, his limbs becoming weary of playfully wrestling with David. “I give—”

A violent tremor in the water, something looking akin to a threat, caught his attention and prompted him to sharply jerk backwards. Body rigid, breath frozen in his throat, eyes blown wide open, and lip quivering in fright. He was on the verge of a panic attack, one which David quickly deciphered.

“Whoa, whoa, easy ‘ere love. Oi!” the scrapper shouted to gain his attention, slick palms ascending from beneath the water to cradle Quentin’s cheeks. “C’mon now, deep breaths, in and out,” David instructed while demonstrating the basic action for him. “Deep breaths… ‘at’s it.”

Following suit, Quentin mimicked his boyfriend until the cluster of trapped air in his esophagus dispersed. With the dull ache in his chest minimizing, he faintly leaned in David’s inviting touch and concentrated on removing the rigidity from his locked limbs. He was fortunate and grateful for the scrapper and his uncharacteristic patience, but it was still embarrassing to experience an episode of panic here and there. Why was he still afflicted by these pitiful attacks? He had established by now that Freddy was not going to harm him or send tendrils of water to drag him to his doom—or whatever else. So why?

“I… m’sorry,” he apologized after fully calming down, “I-I don’t know why I did that.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” David whispered knowingly, the man’s thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks. “Don’ gotta apologize. Wanna get out?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Taking the lead, Quentin swam to shore and then proceeded to saunter over to his discarded clothes. Despite the embarrassing aspects of his new hoodie—the mouse ears specifically—the garment acted as a decent towel for drying off. David did similar yet, instead of using his overcoat, the other opted to use his woolen sweater for the task. Quentin recalled the scrapper mentioning that the sweater was itchy at the worst of times, and it was not as though his boyfriend truly favoured wearing shirts beforehand.

Once suitably wiped down, Quentin redonned his dry clothes which included his new and distasteful T-shirt. It was a simple short sleeved, black shirt decorated with smoky gray clouds and a central caption on the front which read ‘Dream A Dream’ in thin, red cursive. Apparently the Entity had a sick sense of humor.

“That was fun… minus my, umm, y’know, panic attack,” Quentin lowly stammered out, the younger moving to join his boyfriend to cuddle underneath the base of a random tree.

“It was,” David agreed, his arms encircling Quentin in a tender embrace, “and you only ‘ad one this time ‘round.”

“M’getting better, little by little, thanks to you. So, uh, thanks.”

“Been meanin’ ta ask, why d’ya like swimmin’ so much?” the scrapper curiously blurted out. “Reckon it’s not just a mere ‘obby.”

“I like swimming for the same reason you like fighting and drinking,” he uttered smoothly, his statement lacking one other small truth. In actuality, his joy for water was only developed in spite of his father which resulted in a double win for him—his father huffing over his choice of sport and his discovered love for said sport. “It’s something you really enjoy and that you’re good at doing… but I might not brag about getting wasted and having drunken brawls in back alleys.”

“Don’ knock it till ya try it,” the scrapper expressed with a sense of pride. “‘Sides, after all ‘at fight trainin’ we’ve been doin’, you’d think it’d grow on ya.”

David, upon his request, had recently shown him a few defensive maneuvers—ones which the scrapper had a tendency to forget in the midst of a rage—to help him repel Freddy in close quarters combat. Nothing terribly damaging, at least not to the killers in this place, but it was ideal to utilize in the appropriate situation.

“Maybe a bit,” Quentin amended after a moment, his answer earning him a grunt of approval from his boyfriend and a kiss on his dampened locks.

Feeling the trifling need to reciprocate, he twisted around to give David a chaste kiss which quickly transformed into a heated one when the other refused to relinquish his lips. Arms tightened around his back as their passion escalated, his neck slightly tilting to the side to gain better leverage. When the hands pawing at his back came to rest on the swell of his clothed ass however, Quentin flinched away in alarm.

“Damn.”

“Wait, no,” Quentin protested when David loosened his hold and ceased their lip lock, “don’t stop. It was just a flinch David.”

“Which means yer still not ready—”

“How ‘bout you let me decide when I’m ready?” he aggressively snapped, his teeth gritting in frustration.

“‘ow ‘bout _no!_ ” David harshly spat. “We’ve been over this love, I don’ wanna make you uncomfortable or remind you of ‘at disgustin’ arse.”

Shifting some in the older male’s lap, Quentin offered David a soft expression and an exasperated, “Please Davey.”

The thick bob of an Adam’s apple and the mild shiver he elicited from the scrapper was extremely amusing to watch. David was a sucker for his new nickname and while using it during a moment like this was downright cheap, the scrapper was giving him little choice. Yes, his latest incident with Freddy stood to be the worst on record but he wanted to erase the memory with better ones, like before. David however was not allowing their intimacy to go any further than kissing and Quentin was starting to get worried that something else was afoot.

“This isn’t just about me. You have needs too,” he sternly informed the burly male, “and I’m just trying to be a good boyfriend and… fulfill them.”

“Heh,” David laughed, the noise sounding nowhere near the likes of humor, as his hold on Quentin tighten a smidge too tight. “Is ‘at wha’ you think I want?”

“Well… I mean, uh, I thought—”

“Ya thought wha’?” All of the telltale signs—body language, curt words, and deep breaths— told Quentin that his boyfriend was beginning to anger; he had said something wrong.

“I guess I just wanted to repay you for being so patient and helpful.”

David furrowed his brows in irritation and uttered a firm, “Y’don’ gotta repay anythin’ ta me.”

“But… I want to. Is that so wrong?”

“N-No, no, course it’s not. It just don’ need ta be repaid with sex,” the scrapper clarified a touch more gently. “You fulfill my needs just fine so stop tryin’ ta force it—”

“F-Force?” Quentin reiterated the word in sheer horror. “No, god no, I’d _never_ do that to you! I wasn’t trying t—”

“Oi now, easy,” David expressed with a hand clamping down on Quentin’s bicep likely to ground the younger male. “I know you weren’t.”

Of course his boyfriend was not implying force but his stupid brain just decided pick and choose what details to wholly register. Glancing into those stony hazel green orbs, he mumbled out a sorrowful, “M’sorry Davey. I’m such an idiot.”

“Heh. So am I love, so am—goddammit!” David suddenly swore, the man glaring hatefully at the wisps of fog beginning to form a cocoon around his body.

Huffing at the Entity and her poor timing, Quentin plastered on a bright smile and then said, “Try not to die this time.”

“I’ll do my best,” the scrapper offered as his thumb flicked across the tip of his nose. “Catcha back at the fire?”

“Yeah, oh and…” Quentin paused to place a parting kiss on David’s delectable lips. “I love you.”

“Love ya too Quen.”

Watching David vanish into the fog, Quentin allowed himself an exhausted sigh. Their conversation certainly took a nasty turn and it could have ended in an even less pleasant fashion. Frankly he was disgusted with his actions and his total blindness towards what his boyfriend actually desired from him. He had to pay better attention to David and his emotions although, sometimes, the man was difficult to read.

It was comforting though, refreshing even, to know that the scrapper appeared to value him beyond the thrill of sex despite David being hopelessly horny ninety percent of the time. Such a loving gesture was foreign to him which perhaps explained why he was unable to comprehend it. The love he had received previously in his life either disappeared or was corrupt from the start. Was this what a true loving relationship was supposed to be like?

Thinking of those to offer him love reminded Quentin of Freddy and how the dream demon was likely awaiting his sworn visit to the dreamworld. Given that David was currently absent and the others were elsewhere, this was the opportune moment to pay the bastard such a visit. He obviously preferred not to as willingly falling asleep without protection from the Entity was sure to result in several unfavourable outcomes for him, but what choice did he have?

Witnessing Claudette and Jake being nearly defiled was too taxing to recollect, their faces revealing raw fear—either wholeheartedly or just a mere sliver of the emotion—when the unthinkable became reality. Quentin loathed his own weakness in the matter, his hesitation to act properly as he watched Freddy touch Claudette so freely. And the saboteur lying partially naked beneath the dream demon? If he had left, if he had taken the hatch and escaped, then Jake would have undoubtably been raped as a cruel message to him.

Quentin dispelled the stinging tears pooling in his orbs and carefully removed the metal chain from his neck. His friends did not need to know about this nor worry for future trials with Freddy. If this was what it took to protect the virtue and sanity of his friends, then so be it. He clutched his cross pendant and desperately prayed for his success without having to endure another—

“Quentin?”

“Huh, L-Laurie?” he stuttered out in surprise, his hands hurriedly placing his necklace back in its rightful place to avoid suspicion. “Is that you?”

“Hey Quen,” Laurie greeted upon walking into the clearing a few paces away from him. “Umm, is this a bad time?” she continued as she approached him, a spring of determination in her step. “Where’s David?”

“He was taken away for a trial,” Quentin explained, “and no, uh, this isn’t a bad time. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong but I… we need to talk.”

“About Jake?”

“No, not Jake, and he’s doing just fine. Stop blaming yourself for what happened,” she sternly scolded while her eyes cut into his like a sharpened dagger.

“I doubt I ever will,” he mumbled underneath his breath depressively, the statement seemingly unheard by Laurie. Figuring that he was in for another tedious lecture, Quentin voiced a somewhat whiny, “Laurie, look, if this is about Freddy or what I did—”

“No, no, it has nothing to do with that either,” she hastily asserted with a headshake. “It’s… can I sit down?”

“Sure, yeah uh, go ahead.”

Allowing Laurie to take a seat beside him, he observed as she gazed out at the still pond with a peculiar expression adorning her face. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

“For what?” Quentin perplexedly questioned. “You haven’t done anything.”

“Technically I already apologized for this awhile back,” she spoke without proper elaboration, “but your mind was on more important things.”

“Umm, okay?”

“It’s about Michael and what you told me happened between the two of you,” the babysitter finally revealed, her eyes shifting to softly lock with his. “I apologized before but I’m apologizing again in light of… recent events.”

“Okay, I really don’t get wha—”

“Michael and I,” she muttered ever so quietly, her voice riddled with disbelief, “he… he showed me mercy.”

Orbs widening in shock, Quentin prevented his mouth from going agape and said, “H-He did? What happened? If, uh, you don’t mind me asking.”

“During my last trial, Michael had saved me for last like he always does. He was chasing me around the farmhouse when I tumbled down a flight of stairs. I hit my head pretty hard, it was blurry and I could barely move without stumbling.”

“But you got away, right?”

“Eventually, but not without Michael helping me. I struggled the whole time in his grasp, or whatever time I remember anyway,” she supplied with an uncertain shrug, “but he was persistent.”

“What’d he do?”

“At first he just watched me stumble around before picking me and carrying me around the map. I must’ve blacked out at some point because, when I woke up, I was lying in the middle of a forest with a medical kit in my arms. When I saw that kit, I knew Michael had given it to me and spared my life. H-He actually let me go, I… I couldn’t… he’s never done that before.”

“Laurie?” he worriedly expressed when the young woman burst into tears.

“He’s supposed to be a _mindless_ killer,” she seethed, her watery eyes adopting a murderous glare, “just like before. That’s what he _is!_ He’s not merciful or caring and he just… he just… why now? Why spare me? It doesn’t make sense, it… _fuck!_ ”

Quentin raised a stunned eyebrow at the rare curse and tentatively opened his arms for the babysitter. Laurie hesitated for a minute, her eyes scanning his form as if subtly questioning his motives, before moving to lay against his chest. He had to be careful not to overwhelm his friend as she was not the most accepting individual of physical contact. Then again, Laurie had come a long way from the reserved and hardened young woman he had initially met. In light of every horrible aspect in this godforsaken world, it has done wonders on improving their personalities and appreciation for friendship.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Quentin began while his arms gingerly curled around the babysitter’s shaking shoulders, “but maybe it has something to do with this place. Freddy… in the beginning, all he wanted to do was kill me for, uh, reasons, but when he realized I’d always come back, he eased off of the killing… a bit.”

“Michael isn’t Freddy,” Laurie sternly muttered into his shirt. “Freddy’s a revengeful, conniving _rapist_ while Michael is a silent demon with no soul.”

“I’d argue that Freddy doesn’t have a soul either, but I wasn’t trying to compare them. I just meant that surviving here has changed us so, logically, it _could_ change the killers too. L-Like the Huntress: she spared me and Jake that one time. Michael spared me once too,” he added to further emphasize his main point. “Why would they do that if they were completely heartless?”

“W-Well, I… don’t know. I don’t know what to think, and I _really_ don’t care. All I know is that I owed you a proper apology. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you. And, if it helps, you don’t need to look too much into it. Michael will still kill so—”

“I know he will,” Laurie resolutely uttered, “and whatever happened between us _will_ stay in the past.”

“Just like that?” he questioned with an eyebrow cocked. “You’re okay with ignoring it?”

“I am for now, especially when there’s other people I should be thinking about more. Th-Thank you for, umm, y’know—”

“You’re welcome.”

“You wanna hang out at the fire?” she asked in the midst of speedily rising to her feet, her quick retraction from his embrace suggesting that the babysitter was still troubled over Michael. Or was he misreading her now too? “Some of us were going to get together to play a little card game.”

“Actually I was about to take a nap. David and I were swimming for awhile and I’m pretty tired now.”

“You could sleep at the fire. I’d be warmer—”

“And louder,” he pointedly voiced while catching on to what the babysitter was trying to do. “Thanks, but I think I’ll get better sleep out here.”

“Medallion?”

“Got it right here,” he stated, his fingers holding up the item in question for Laurie to see. “Don’t worry ‘bout me Laurie. It’s safe for me to sleep wherever with this.”

“Well, alright,” she murmured a little uneasily, “but we’ll see you later?”

“Definitely.”

When Laurie was a safe distance away, Quentin slammed an annoyed fist into the rough bark biting into his back. God, he was making everyone uselessly worry for his well-being again, and his friends deserved all the peace of mind he could acquire for them. Time to dream, he undesirably thought.

He shimmied down the base of the sturdy tree trunk to lay uncomfortably on the solid earth, the cold temperature of the dirt radiating through his flimsy shirt. Quelling the shivers raking up his spine, Quentin removed his necklace for a second time and gently rested it in front of his nose. Please let this work, he internally begged whatever compassionate higher beings may be listening and then eventually drifted off to sleep.

\--------------------

Waking up in the dreamworld was a feeling which he had hoped to forget though, sadly, he remained unlucky in that regard. To add to his miserable decision, he found himself waking up fully submerged underwater, his speedo-clad form suspended in place. Thoroughly panicked, Quentin urgently ascended to the surface only to smack into a thick barrier made out of ice. He pushed and pounded at different sections of the ice, his fingers scraping along the smoothness to find any grooves or dents to claw at. He did not want to drown, not again, not… why was it so easy to breathe?

Pausing momentarily, Quentin took an experimental breath and quickly noticed that his lungs did not burn from inhaling the water. Exhaling, he also noted the lack of air bubbles to escape his mouth and nose.

He was actually _breathing_ underwater.

Anything was possible in the dreamworld, his frazzled mind barely reminded him to which he begrudgingly agreed with. Why was he trapped underwater though? Was Freddy going to drown him in some other fashion? Or perhaps crush him with the weight of the water? Maybe… wait, were those fish?

Glancing around the seemingly endless, well-lit blue of the waterbody, Quentin observed as numerous colourful fish—many of which he knew not the names of—swam from afar to loosely circle around his body. Were these carnivorous fish? The select few he knew by heart—clownfish, some type of seahorse, and manta rays—were not dangerous, but the others were questionable. He had no inkling to find out exactly how dangerous said others were and opted to swim farther downward only for the fish to follow, their watchful eyes gawking at his every twist and turn. What was this?

Speaking of danger, two blue-green and thin creatures decided to leisurely swim around his outstretched arms. His meager knowledge of aquatic life suggested to him that these were eels though were eels not electrified? He was unsure but it was honestly quite fascinating to see them coil up and down the length of his arms, their pattern mirroring a twirling ribbon fluttering in the air. Do not get distracted, his brain wisely warned him. Quentin was keen to argue that his swim with the fishes was not a distraction but a prelude to something sinister. Where the hell was Freddy anyway?

Quentin scanned every inch of the water to find no sight or hint of the dream demon. His search might go more swimmingly, no pun intended, if the fish were not hovering close to his face and practically nuzzling at his skin with their slimy bodies. Clearly the sea creatures were determined to garner his full attention though their specific purpose for doing so evaded him. If he was capable of verbally expressing his frustration to Freddy, he sincerely would but apparently whatever weirdness this was did not include the ability to talk underwater.

The fish grew more persistent, their nuzzling antics abandoned in favour of lightly nibbling at his toes and fingers. Were they trying to goad him into swimming? To test his theory, Quentin swan slightly to the left and watched as the fish followed, their appearance reminiscent of a vibrant mosaic painting in motion. He then swam in a downward spiral and observed as the fish once again mimicked his movement. This was turning out to be oddly fun and, against his reluctant thoughts, Quentin began swimming around the vast depths in earnest. His goal was primarily experimental though, if he were to find a fracture, he aimed to use it before Freddy shifted the environment around. Of course, knowing the cunning bastard, the dream demon was not going to let him go that easily. Besides, Freddy probably already knew what he was up to.

Minutes stretched on into what felt like hours and Quentin found his goal of escape disappearing alongside the rest of his crippling fears. He was enjoying this experience far too much to care about anything else and the fish were excellent swimming companions. Almost completely lost in his fun, he gasped in silent horror at the sight of a distinctive battered fedora. Sitting on bleachers, of all things, was Freddy, the killer hunched forward in his seat while his cheek rested in the palm of his hand. Aside from the bleachers and the asshole perched on them, there was nothing save for blank, inky darkness in the near distance. Why were there bleachers underwater?

The authentic, easy smile the dream demon wore made Quentin suddenly ill and deprived him of all the joy he was feeling. Wishing to wipe the nauseating smile free from that mangled face, he speedily swam towards Freddy and prompted smacked into yet another barrier. This time, rather than an icy barrier, it was made out of fine glass—very hard glass from the feel of it. Rubbing his sore forehead, Quentin shot the most incensed scowl at the man with an accompanying middle finger to boot.

“You look beautiful swimming with them,” Freddy lightly commented, the sweetness in his tone causing Quentin to cringe in disgust, “but you’ve always looked stunning in the water, right angelfish?”

Fuck, the sicko had been watching him this entire time? Why had Freddy not revealed his presence earlier or was hiding part of whatever weird game this was? Now angered by his current predicament, Quentin started aggressively swimming about, his body bumping into glass and ice alike in an attempt to break through his watery cage. Pondering it now, he belatedly realized that his cage was actually a giant fish tank where he, the fish, was to be occasionally admired instead of being able to roam without restraint. What a heart shattering reality; Quentin now pitied every fish confined to a life behind walls.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Freddy warned, his smile twitching into a half frown. “Why don’t you swim some more for me?” No fucking thanks asshole, Quentin thought bitterly, not with you watching like an absolute creeper. “Or should I let you out?”

Well of course he wanted to be let out but if Freddy wished to see him beg for his freedom, then forget it. Although, if the dream demon grew impatient with him, the killer might drown him or rob him of his temporary ability to breathe underwater.

“I suppose I could do that,” Freddy resumed after a moment, his reference to ‘that’ worrying Quentin some, “and then we can have a little fun together.”

With those ominous words, the dream demon then snapped his fingers and the water started to drain from several vents at the bottom of his makeshift water tank. When had there been a tiled floor down there, and where did those vents come from? Keeping track of the changes in the environment was too hard for anyone, other than Freddy, to accomplish and did little save for supply him with a thumping headache.

When all the water receded, Quentin was left shivering on the floor with a bunch of dying fish, their bodies flopping around a bit before quietly settling down to dry out—a saddening end to their brief life. He half expected Freddy to make the water funnel out into one large hole, the evacuating liquid forming a whirlpool to suck him in and drag him into the bowels of the drain. Whatever.

“See? Wasn’t that fun angelfish?” the dream demon spouted with such vigor and cheeriness that it made Quentin gag on a clump of spittle. He felt scratchy fabric collect him and haul him into an embrace which he minutely fought against. Sadly, Freddy was incredibly warm right now and his freezing body was not coordinating with his persistent defiance. “I know I enjoyed the show.”

“C-Can I w-w-wake up now?” he stuttered out through chattering teeth, the minor tremble in his voice surely stroking Freddy’s humongous ego.

Quentin only just swore that he would not plead with the dream demon yet his mouth spoke without his permission. He desired warmth and safety above all else now and those two aspects were not to be found here—not without cost. Hopefully this, his swimming around in an overly large fish tank, counted as a ‘visit’ so Freddy might be willing to let him leave. Why was he so damn naïve?

“You want to leave so soon?” The mock hurt and disappointment in that gravelly voice did not go unnoticed and the words relatively matched what Quentin had expected Freddy to say. Was it even possible to try and convince the dream demon to release him? Fuck it; he wanted out!

“M’really t-tired from s-s-swimming, umm, f-for you,” Quentin voiced carefully, his words acting as a means of feeble persuasion, “and cold.”

“Is that so?” The killer disapprovingly hummed in his clavicle and countered with, “You could stay here and I’ll warm you right up.”

Sensing metallic tips running along his upper thighs, he shook his head and mumbled a composed, “My-My friends will get s-suspicious if I don’t check in with th-them soon.”

“Really? And here I thought you’d be curled up with your _boyfriend_.” Quentin remained tactically silent and ignored the subtle jab at David as Freddy was likely just fishing for a worthwhile reaction from him. “Well then, I suppose we can play later.”

That definitely was _not_ what Quentin anticipated to hear. “You-You’ll let me go?”

“If you ask nicely.”

Wait, seriously? If he uttered what the man wanted to hear, was he going to be freed? Do not be an idiot, his mind screeched at him and, while Quentin respected the warning, his pride was not going to get him in more trouble this time. It pained him to sacrifice his pride so quickly to his worst nightmare but, like before, his mouth had a mind of its own.

“Please,” he expressed kindly, the word tasting immensely repulsive on his tongue, “please lemme wake me.”

Freddy grumbled sadly at his response and said, “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Please let me wake up…” Quentin hesitated for a spell, his teeth piercing into his tongue and drawing blood, before adding the final important piece of the statement. “Mr. Krueger.”

“Good boy, always so clever. I’m happy you came to visit me Quen,” Freddy elatedly stated, the words breathed into a damp ear, “and I’m sure we’ll see each other again _real_ soon. Won’t we?”

“Y-Yes… but, my friends—”

“Are of little interest to me,” the dream demon informed, his fingers carding affectionately through moist chocolate curls, “so long as you don’t forget to visit. And maybe I’ll let you pick the game next time. Won’t that be nice?”

“Y-Yeah,” he blindly agreed with the man in order to leave sooner. “I-I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, until then… something to remember me by,” Freddy whispered gleefully before sinking his blunt teeth into a slick, likely tempting shoulder.

Quentin released an extended yelp, the sharp pressure digging into his flesh abruptly rousing him from his slumber. Subsequently, he bolted upright to see familiar surroundings and no pesky dream demon touching him.

Swiftly retrieving his necklace, Quentin redonned his cherished piece of jewelry and breathed a sigh of utter relief. Freddy had _actually_ let him leave without hurting him—not physically at least. At least he was not raped; thank heaven! Was the man sick or was the asshole not in the mood to play after all? Maybe the dream demon had grown bored of him when he refused to play the part of a content and happy fish, or perhaps the Entity had told Freddy to stop. The latter seemed unlikely since their captor practically encouraged and enabled such behaviour. Whatever the case may be, Quentin was both impossibly baffled and grateful to be awake and unscathed. It seemed like a small victory but only if Freddy kept his word and left his friends in peace.

Doubt was quick to fill his vacant mind as the dream demon was well known for his deceit and lies yet, as he clutched his cross and medallion, Quentin felt strangely at peace with the future. He firmly believed, though probably gullible, that his sacrifice was not to be in vain.

He had to remain strong with this and, for better or worse, he was prepared to do what was necessary to protect his friends, his precious and irreplaceable family, from the nightmare he unknowingly brought upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter and the caption on Quentin’s new T-shirt is vaguely based off of the song title, ‘Dream a Dream’ by Captain Jack.


	44. Shepherd My Trust, Bare Thy Beautiful Soul

David grumbled at having survived his trial up until the finale only to be struck from behind just inches away from the open exit gate. Of course the killer just had to be the rabbit bitch and her godly aim with hatchets and, to complicate matters before the trial had even started, he had to contend with a fairly sizeable problem. Quentin was undoubtably the worst cock tease he had ever encountered and the little sneak probably was none the wiser to that fact either. As a result, he spent the first minute or so relieving his aching dick in a secluded corner of the realm.

Rough luck overall but David was not terribly mithered by it, especially since he managed to lob a few hatchets back at The Huntress. His aim was not shit hot, but the one time his throw actually connected was when the killer decided to tunnel him relentlessly. Either way, he had a grand old time and at least one mate was able to survive this round.

Sighing in satisfaction, David navigated through the sea of trees and eventually sauntered into the campground. His eyes darted about to find Quentin curled up beside Meg in front of the fire. Opposite the pair were Laurie, Jake and Bill whom appeared to be playing a card game, the intensity of their facial expressions revealing just how absorbed they were in it. Shuffling over to Meg and Quentin, David was promptly shushed by the runner.

“He’s sleeping,” she lowly informed, her fingers tenderly massaging the teenager’s scalp.

“I can see ‘at,” he whispered bluntly, his brows automatically furrowing in aggravation. Crouching down, David carefully positioned himself in such a manner that allowed both he and Meg to act as warm body pillows for Quentin. “Where’s Nea?”

“Out scouring the woods with Ace and Feng. Apparently I needed a break so...”

David hummed in acknowledgement though his attention was directed at Quentin. The mouse hoodie had rumpled enough to reveal a nearly faded, oval-shaped marking on the boy’s neck. Given his extensive experience with brawl wounds and intercourse, he was almost positive that the strange bruise was from a bite. Although, Quentin had a tendency to sleep in awkward positions where he developed the odd bruise or two.

Disregarding his petty suspicions, David picked up their conversation by declaring, “Break won’ kill ya lass.”

“I know that,” she lightly hissed at him before her features softened and her gaze trailed down to Quentin. “In fact it’s given me lots to think about.”

“Care ta share?”

Meg abruptly side-eyed him, her baby blue eyes conveying a sliver of annoyance, before reluctantly admitting, “I was an idiot.”

“Y’don’ say?” he muttered, the mockery in his tone as audible as the crisp snapping and crackling of the campfire.

“Oh shut—” David swiftly slapped a palm over her loud mouth and pointedly looked downward at the sleeping teen curled in their laps. Meg glowered some and then shook his hand free to heatedly murmur, “You’re such an _asshole_.”

Holding his palms up in surrender, David snickered out a slightly smug, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

She snarled warningly at him, her face reddening for a mere fraction of a second, though refrained from vocalizing her anger. David fully expected it too though this was not exactly the time for an explosive argument. If he wanted Quentin to rest soundly, then he probably should not goad Meg right now—even if it was amusing. He blamed his behaviour mostly on his lingering bitter feelings towards the runner and her hasty choice to escape this world alone. After everything they had been through together, after bonding with everyone in a way no one else could, she could just waltz out of here without a second thought? Honestly she was a real backstabber and David had no intention of forgiving her completely anytime soon.

“What?” she quietly spat, her temper seemingly simmering down a touch. “You think I’m too proud to admit that?”

“I neva said ‘at.”

“No, you just... you don’t trust me anymore,” Meg ventured to guess, “do you?”

“I trust you,” he asserted while mentally deflecting the accusing glare boring into him. “M’just miffed with what ya did, leavin’ us behind like we meant nothin’ ta you.”

“There’s the pot calling the kettle black. Don’t act like you’ve never done something without thinking,” the runner defensively spewed. “You do stupid shit in trials all the time.”

“I won’ apologize for protectin’ my mates,” David sternly fired back, “and wha’ you did was _betrayal_.”

Shock quickly overtook the fury Meg was expressing as she voiced a feeble, “B-Betrayal?”

“Y’just left, legged it god knows where, only thinkin’ of yerself while the rest of us wondered if—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” she aggressively conceded, her braids—looking akin to strawberry licorice twists—whipping at the air with every shake of her head. “I was a selfish bitch! Happy?”

“I am now. So wha’ changed?”

“Nea. She... I was just so caught up in seeing my mother that I almost left my family behind. My dysfunctional and crazy family mind you,” she added with a delicate grin, its raw warmth causing David’s lips to twitch into a faint smile, “but... family.”

A barely audible groan resounding from below abruptly startled the conversing pair, their eyes diverting downward at the same time to see Quentin stirring. Shite; they had been too loud!

Panicking, David went to uselessly utter a swear but Meg intercepted it with a slim finger raised in front of his nose. Mere seconds later, the runner once more carded her fingers through short, unruly brown curls and then began to sing a hushed, soothing tune.

“ _Be calm, my eternal flame,_

_Quell your blaze, not your splendid glow,_

_Rest not fear, none shall steal your light,_

_Just close your eyes, dream the night away,_

_My dear go forth, you are almost there,_

_Seize the dawn, darkness begone_.”

David listened and observed in awe as the tranquil melody had Quentin relaxing in their respective holds. “Beautiful,” he lowly breathed, the gentle lullaby striking at something deep inside his soul.

“It was what my mother used to sing to me when I afraid to sleep at night.” Meg then gloomily stared at the ground, her bottom lip quivering as her composure wavered. “I miss her.”

Great. Now David  _really_  felt like an arse seeing her pain reflect on the outside, her sniffles barely contained as she hid her face in Quentin’s hair. He allowed her a moment of uninterrupted silence, mostly to avoid any unexpected snappiness, before speaking again.

“M’sorry,” he apologetically mumbled, “m’sorry yer not with ‘er now, and I-I ‘ope ya get the chance ta see ‘er ‘gain.”

A series of muffled sobs was his only response which had his heart wrenching in his chest cavity. Why was it so excruciating to watch his mates cry? To assuage both of their depression, David gingerly pat Meg on the head and then pressed his forehead into her gorgeous locks. Admittedly he was a little lost on what to say or do in this situation, but he hoped his sincerity was recognized nonetheless. Soon the both of them were pulling their heads away to eye each other awkwardly before Meg suddenly burst into quiet giggles.

Believing that the cause of her laughter stemmed from him, David lightly questioned, “Wha’d I do now?”

“Nothing, nothing wrong anyways, just... thanks.”

“Thank you fer comin’ to yer senses. It may seem bad but at least we ‘ave each other.”

Playfully swatting his shoulder, she smirked at him and asked, “When did you get so sappy?”

“‘Suppose it was ‘round the time we inherited a dysfunctional and crazy family.”

“Guess so,” Meg agreed, her fingers scrubbing the residual moisture from her cheeks. “Y’know David, you might be an asshole sometimes, but you’re one hell of a brother.”

“And yer a tough lil’ sister with one ‘ell of a mouth.” At her inquisitive eyebrow, David repeated the words to himself and then promptly gulped. “Shite, ‘at came out wrong didn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah kinda, but I know whatcha meant: I can bitch just as easily as I can breathe.” They shared a hearty laugh before David watched Meg return her gaze to Quentin. “It helps that our better halves straighten us out from time-to-time though.”

“Where’d we be without ‘em?”

“Probably punching trees,” she nonchalantly stated, “or stomping around the forest and screaming at anyone who gives us funny looks. It would suck.”

“It would,” he concurred, his affectionate eyes glued to his better half.

“Umm, so, how’s he doing?” Meg inquired while vaguely gesturing to Quentin. “He seemed a bit shaken when he got back here.”

Snapping his vision upward, David voiced a confused, “Shaken?”

“Yeah. He said he took a nap in the woods but it really didn’t look like it. Then he played a few hands with us before moving over here. He was kinda jumpy and distance, like his mind was somewhere else.”

He mulled over her words for a spell before only one explanation became clear. “W-We had a wee argument before I was called away. I thought we’d settled it, but…”

“About the creeper?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh,” Meg eventually drawled, “so it’s about sex then?”

“Wha’ makes ya th—”

“I’m in a relationship too,” she practically deadpanned, her tone bringing about a faint scowl to his face. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”

“Right, well, I don’ wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“You’re not... trying to force him into sex, are you?”

“ _No!_ ” David boomed in utter disgust, a flash of heat rising to his skin. “M’not some blood—”

Now it was Meg’s turn to smack a palm over his mouth. “Sheesh, sorry I asked. Have you tried listening instead of jumping to conclusions?”

Batting her hand away with almost too much force, he said, “I listen ta ‘im all the time.”

“Are you sure?” she questioned with an oddly serious voice. “Sometimes Nea says things without  _actually_  saying them. Y’gotta read into it m—”

“He’s been pushy ‘bout it,” he testily began to divulge, her thirst for gossip not worth harboring a not-secret, “treats sex like it’s necessary, like it’ll fix some balance between us. Freddy probably said or did somethin’ t—”

“Or maybe you’re just too boneheaded to see the real truth.”

Internally fuming at the boneheaded part of her remark, David settled on a heated, “Maybe.”

“If it’s bothering you so much, then talk to him. Oh right, oops. Manly men,” she expressed whilst her fingers imitated quotation marks, “are pussies and don’t talk about their feelings.”

“I’m no bloody coward.”

“Then fucking talk to him,” Meg grouched, her body language switching from intimidating to timid in seconds. “My worst regret was seeing and hearing what  _I_  wanted to see and hear from Nea. I wasn’t really paying attention to her though, not in the way I should’ve been.”

Unconsciously nodding along, he breathed out an exhausted sigh and then pensively muttered, “Neva thought a relationship could be so bloody ‘ard.”

“No kidding… but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Not even yer mum?”

There was a long pause, one where David was inclined to take her silence as an answer, until she firmly stated, “Not even for her, not anymore.” He did not even have a minute to process his sheer shock before she eagerly added, “And the next time I’m in a trial with Krueger, he’s getting a flashlight shoved up his ass.”

Respecting her subtle way of dodging their prior discussion, his lips blossomed into a wide grin as he replied with an enthusiastic, “Not before I’ve bled ‘im like a pig.”

“Hell yeah! Well, erm, if we’re doing good trial-wise, but we can’t afford to let that creeper jerk us around anymore.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

David cranked his neck down to the source and found his love hazily glancing between him and Meg. “Quen?”

“Dammit! We didn’t mean t—”

“It’s okay,” Quentin calmly assured the both of them, “and I’ve already been over this. Freddy—”

“Won’t know what hit him,” the runner determinedly finished, her fingers brushing the groggy teenager’s bangs away from his forehead. “We’ve all agreed: no more searching chests, no more exploring the map, and no more hideaway sex. When we’re in trials with Krueger, we get in, rush the generators, and get the fuck out.”

Quentin shimmied into an upright position to cock an eyebrow at Meg while asking, “Shouldn’t that be the normal way of doing things with every killer?”

Clearly displeased with such a question, she vengefully yanked the boy’s hood over the upper half of his face—most likely in jest. “What’re you a drill sergeant now?”

“Trials get pretty, uh, borin’ otherwise,” David stammered our sheepishly, his two cents worth drawing a withering look from Quentin.

“And it’s kinda exciting y’know,” Meg bizarrely squealed in excitement, “getting it on when the killer could be—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Quentin exclaimed, his hands unconsciously raising to shield his ears. “Too much info, thank you.”

“It’s just an extra thrill factor to add to the sex,” she effortlessly explained. “No biggie. Haven’t you guys ever done it during—”

“No! Th-That’s wrong, it’s wrong to be doing _that_ while the others could be killed or... worse.”

“I have thought ‘bout it,” David idly commented to which Quentin scandalously screeched at. “Well Meg does ‘ave a point,” he saucily uttered only to hastily backpedal when the teen angrily pouted at him. “B-But so do you and, umm...”

“Alright, okay, we’ll shut up now,” Meg harmlessly spoke, her hands fluttering up and down in the air like flippers. “It’s not like this is any worse than that time Feng asked us girls if our lady gardens were still growing.”

“Lady... oh,” David barely emitted when the subject matter dawned on him and Quentin mumbled something inaudible, a swear perhaps, before hiding his flushed face underneath his hood again.

“Isn’t it weird though?” she continued without a care towards their embarrassment. “We only grow hair on our heads and nowhere else.”

“Convenient’s more like,” David corrected, one hand extending to run at the underside of his chin. “It’s great not havin’ ta constantly shave.”

“I kinda wanna shave Bill’s beard just to see what happens.”

“Good luck with ‘at,” he told Meg before movement diverted his vision to a figure leaving the campground. “Oi! Where’re ya goin’?”

“I need to stretch my legs,” Quentin explained, his right foot kicking at the ground for extra emphasis. “Th-Thanks for watching over me Meg. You didn’t need t—”

“I wanted to! I lost four times already with them,” Meg claimed as she gestured to the group of three still engrossed in their card game, “and sitting with you was… safer.” And by safer David had to assume that losing had riled up her temper somewhat.

“Uh, right,” Quentin answered with a short wave, “erm, thanks again. I’ll see you guys later.”

When the boy was out of sight and presumably out of earshot, the runner smacked him on the shoulder and asked, “Earth to David! You’re missing your opportunity to talk to him.”

He belatedly realized that he had been staring at the spot where Quentin had disappeared. Had he been spacing out? What had he been pondering exactly? And why was he interrogating himself about it? A mystery for later, his inner voice hurriedly stated, now leg it! Briefly thanking Meg for breaking him out of his weird trance, David swiftly called after the boy as he dashed into the forest.

“David?” Quentin perplexedly spoke when the scrapper closed the gap between them. “What it is?”

“Just thought I’d walk with ya.”

“Aren’t you tired?” the teenager next inquired with a tilt of his head, the cute image causing David to choke back a snicker. “From your trial?”

“Nah, not really.” Sensing that his presence may not be desired at this particular moment, David added a slightly despondent, “I can bugger off somewhere else if—”

“No, no. I just thought you’d be… never mind. So, uh, let’s walk then.”

Matching his stride to walk alongside his boyfriend, David distractedly eyed the multitude of fluorescent plant life lighting their way. The woodsy allure of the forest clung heavily in the air, its scent calming yet too familiar for his liking. He missed the smells from home, from Manchester: the comforting stench of alcohol and musk in the pubs; the homely scent of his abode; the attractive smell of perfume or cologne still lingering on his sweaty body after a tumble in the sheets; the appetizing aroma of freshly baked sweets; and the ever exhilarating stench of blood oozing out of whatever poor sod asked for it. That last point, however, was quite common now which, though he did not mind it, was rather depressing.

Peering sideways, David bit his lip anxiously at the idea of disturbing this oddly enjoyable silence—something which he used to fight to avoid. With his hood pulled up, he had no clear view of Quentin’s face which, by extension, meant he had no chance of discerning any clues of what the other might be pondering. It was maddening but, in all fairest, he was supposed to be the one talking. It could wait, his mind proposed though he shot that suggestion down flat. His rash assumptions were liable to fry his brain if he let them ferment any longer.

“So,” David began to utter, “a lil’ firecracker told me ‘at you seemed shaken at the fire. “Makes me think it ‘ad somethin’ ta do with our recent chat in the woods.”

“What? No, I-I wasn’t shaken,” Quentin attempted to refute, “I was, uh… I was just preoccupied. Thinking about the future ‘n’ all.”

“Reckon it wasn’t nice things.”

“You could say that.”

The explanation appeared to sound legitimate, and he had no intention of rejecting it, though his mind continued to wander. While he was uncertain of the future Quentin was referring to, such talk had him dwelling on their current predicament and what it meant moving forward. He was not so proud to admit that there existed a teensy rift between them, one which he had no idea of how to mend. Although, to fix an issue required knowing exactly what said issue was in the first place. Talking was a righteous pain in the arse sometimes.

“Umm, y’know… wha’ I said earlier ‘bout sex—”

“It’s fine David.”

“No, I don’ think it is love. Please,” David pleaded when the tension elevated to a nauseating peak, “just tell me wha’ I’m doin’ wrong.”

Quentin halted his pace to exaggeratedly sigh—or at least by David's standards of sighing—and then affirmed, “You’re not doing anything wrong—”

“There’s gotta—”

“I just wanted to make more happy sex memories with you,” the boy then blurted out, the suddenness of his outburst driving a mild flinch from David.

“Wha’?”

“W-When I was… raped the last time,” Quentin reluctantly and trembly voiced, his body pivoting to wholly face David, “thinking of us together helped. I-I figured if I have more good experiences with sex, then n-next time won’t be—”

“THERE’S NO BLOODY NEXT TIME!” he violently roared, his thundering voice echoing throughout the treetops. “He’s _neva_ touchin’ you again!”

“You can’t promise th—”

Grabbing the boy by the front of his hoodie, David flung Quentin backwards into the nearest tree trunk and trapped the other in place. “Don’ start with ‘at rubbish again!” he berated his pessimistic lover. “Say it ‘nough times and it’ll always come true. Why can’cha trust us t—”

“I _do_ trust you! I trust every person here!” the boy aggressively defended, his glare not faltering despite being cornered. “But there’re a lotta things we don’t have control over.”

Fist tightening in the thick fabric of Quentin’s hoodie, David gave the boy a shake and spat, “Well isn’t it ‘bout bloody time we took our control back?”

“Yes!”

“So wha’s the _problem?!_ ”

“I… I can’t watch it again,” Quentin softly seethed, his hazy blue orbs gleaming menacingly, “seeing Freddy touching Claudette and Jake like that. I won’t fucking do it!”

“And you won’.”

“No, he’ll… y’know what? You’re right,” the boy ominously stated with a subtle twitch of his brow, “I won—no,  _we_ won’t.”

“Good on ya,” David approvingly breathed out before swiftly dragging Quentin into a hungry kiss.

Hearing such confidence and resolution in the teen’s voice, and seeing his fierceness shine through, had him instantly hot and bothered. Then again, was this a smart thing to do right now? Quentin wished for happier memories which possibly implied that his lover was dissatisfied—or unhappy with it more specifically—with their intimacy. It would be a rough punch to his manhood if that were the case.

Quentin, however, seemed eager enough to allow their close contact to continue. A clothed crotch rubbing against his own had David refocusing on the action at hand, his hips naturally seeking that delightful friction until they were lightly dry humping each other. The pressure was tricky to apply given their current position though their feverish kissing supplied ample pleasure otherwise. How could it not? His lips secured firmly to another smooth set whilst his tongue occasionally delved in between the fleshy seam to deepen their connection. The warm, insistent press of their mouths and hips together was enough to have David salivating for more, his resistance gradually cracking at the edges.

“C’mon Davey,” Quentin retracted from their kiss to whisper seductively in his ear, “fucking  _king_  me.”

“Fuck,” David rasped out, his grip on the other intensifying as his mind practically imploded from those three little words.

It took every fragment of his willpower, and then some, not to rip off their clothes and plow into the younger. Yet, somehow, he managed to bite at the inside of his cheek and resist the burning urge. Before his control had the opportunity to break entirely, David put his newfound energy into throwing the cheeky boy to the ground, straddling those tempting thighs, and rutting their clothed crotches together vigorously.

“Ah, ah… f-fuck, Dave—”

“Bloody tease,” he ferociously panted into Quentin’s neck. “Fancy rilin’ me up like this d’ya?”

Quentin released a partial chuckle, his fingers coming to grasp at the back of David’s overcoat and then he cruelly murmured, “Damn right I do.”

David growled at such a sassy reply and responded by pressing his full weight into the boy in order to properly grind all the cockiness out of his boyfriend. Quentin attempted to apply his own friction into the mix but, with his pelvis literally crushed into the dirt, all the teen was able to do was lie back and take it. He was a little disappointed that he could barely feel those blunt, shaky nails digging into his back but there were, hopefully, other opportunities to experience it later on.

Rapid breathy moans fanned across their respective faces as the tempo extended to impossible heights before Quentin squeezed his shoulders hard and abruptly shouted in ecstasy. A few harsh thrusts and David was joining the boy in the realm of euphoric bliss, his body pleasurably stilling for a short second and then collapsing in exhaustion.

“Can you move now?” Quentin grumpily whined out from beneath him when their highs faded. “You’re heavy.”

“And yer soft,” he countered with a shit-eating grin. “Might take a wee nap—”

“C’mon, don’t be an asshole.” David chuckled but sluggishly maneuvered his sore body to rest beside Quentin, their lingering deep breaths acting as relaxing music in the noiseless woods. “That was nice though,” Quentin added, his tone sounding happy with how things turned out. “Probably should clean up before the mess dries.”

“I dunno, I could go for ‘nother round,” David boldly suggested.

Quentin hmphed and mumbled an irritable, “Now who’s acting like a tease.”

“Y’don’ want to?”

“Are you gonna stop if I flinch?” Now that was the real question. “God David, okay, look,” Quentin patiently resumed when David failed to answer, the boy rolling his body on top of the scrapper, “m’not made of glass. And, yeah, there are things we do that remind me of things Freddy does, but you stopping makes it worse. When you do that, all I can think of is how broken I must be to you—”

“Yer not brok—”

“Shut up! If I wanted you to stop, I’d tell you or knee you in the dick again.”

David plastered on a pained expression at the notion and voiced a nervous, “Please don’ do ‘at.”

“But I’m not because I want this, I want  _you_. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“I-I just… well, uh, m’just tryin’ ta do right by ya. I’ve neva once thought you were broken, but I also neva really know where I stand with ya. I don’ mean ta remind you of ‘at wanker,” he sincerely expressed, his palm extending to cup Quentin on the back of his head. “M’just tryin’ ta be caring.”

“Davey,” Quentin confusedly breathed, his skull leaning down to touch foreheads with David, “I know you care about me. I see it all the time, and what you’re doing  _is_  thoughtful and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t need to be _this_ extreme.”

“And yet earlier y’thought sex was necessary to fulfill my needs.”

David witnessed the swift narrowing of hazy blue, sparkling eyes before the other claimed, “It’s complicated, okay. You’ve given me so much, more than anyone else ever has in my life, and I just…”

“Feel the need ta repay me?”

“Yeah.”

“And I said ya already do plenty fer me,” he coolly reminded the lad.

“Like what?”

“Listenin’ ta my stories fer one, fixin’ me up after a rough scrap,” David easily rattled off, the fondness of each respective memory bringing a smile to his tingly lips, “bein’ so thoughtful of me ‘n’ the others, seein’ ya give everthin’ ya got in trials, laughin’ with everyone, watchin’ ya sleep—”

“That… that’s it?” Quentin disbelievingly inquired. “Those things are enough?”

“‘Course they are. Makes me ‘appy, and well, obviously this stuff too.”

“But anyone could do those things.”

“Maybe, but it’s different with you. You make me feel betta ‘an before ta be ‘onest, more whole or somethin’. This…” David paused to wrestle with his next move, his decision to essentially bare his soul to Quentin. Frankly, the truths sealed within him were gnawing at his insides like tiny insects devouring fresh prey, their ravenous mouths eating away at every wholesome morsel available to chew. If enough time passed, he was certain that there would be nothing remaining to keep under lock and key. But was he capable of committing to this? He wanted to, despite the numerous and horrendous obstacles in his path, he wanted to express to Quentin how he really felt. Do it coward, his inner voice annoyingly goaded, and so he did.

“A relationship, gettin’ this close to someone,” he tried to vocalize without chickening out, “it wasn’t worth my time in the real world. Couldn’t be mithered by it, but now, you made me see ‘ow great it is. It ain’t easy to ‘andle sometimes but… m’not givin’ it up. I… I’m not givin’ you up.”

“I-I, you…” Quentin trailed off suddenly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his cesious-coloured orbs misted with moisture.

David immediately thought he had said something wrong as the sting of rejection struck a devastating blow to his heart. Why had he said that? Why had he not held his tongue and simply enjoyed what he had? Adding feelings into the pot only led to the creation of an inedible stew of pure rubbish which, ultimately, meant it was useless. His mirror reflection from his latest dream, the smug arsehole he argued so adamantly with, was right! Distance was better for both parties, just like with him and his mother, and now…

He nearly shoved the boy off of him before Quentin let out a hearty laugh and then a humorous, “Thanks asshole.”

What? David stared at the other for a moment, his eyes searching for any hint of dishonesty or insincerity, and finding nothing save for genuine emotion written on the youthful face hovering above his. Quentin accepted it? Accepted him?

Heart soaring alongside his overjoyed smile, David flicked Quentin playfully on the nose and said, “Yer welcome brat.”

David then initiated a deep and tender kiss whilst, unbeknownst to them, a frigid mist began pooling around their tired, mostly sated bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg’s mother’s lullaby seemed overly difficult to produce but, to be honest, it turned out rather nice—though I am by no means a song writer.  
> The lullaby is meant to accent light, or fire, in reference to Meg whom occasionally expresses a dangerous flame. Additionally, the lyrics depict that her fire burns brightly during the day and then settles down, though not extinguishes, during the night.


End file.
